Memoir Of An Angel

Part 1: Jack

There she goes.
An angel with unfinished business.
It wasn't her fault God made her oblivious to her gift.
Someone like her isn't made to be mass-produced.

It's 3.02 am in Brisbane Australia and a newly adopted child lies asleep. She's been part of the life of her new family for just under a year, but she knows by now that she is more than loved.
She brings herself comfort in knowing just how comfortable life is with parents that adore her different appearance.
The little girl with vitiligo tucks her hand cross-stitched blanket up to her chin. It's an exceedingly cold night in Brisbane, July brews temperatures that make the glint of light on broken windows look like stained-glass. The blue and white wind chime can be heard singing a rhythmic tune from just outside the Tradewind window by the child's bed. The moon is awake, it seeps its gleam through the clouds and makes its way through the lilac thermal curtains and keeps careful watch on slumbering souls.

Drip... Drip... Drip...

An ufamiliar sound of faint, patterned dripping can be heard. It's starting to persist long enough to wake the sleeping girl.

Drip... Drip... Drip...

She ever so slightly flutters her brown eyes open, her whole body shivers in the cold, tucking her blanket tighter under her chin; She squeezes her arms together to keep warm in this terribly chilly night. She closes her eyes again and tries to go back to sleep.

Drip... Drip... Drip...

The little girl opens her eyes once more, maybe her mother accidentally left the tap unscrewed during her nightly water run. This is an old house, so a water tap dripping is surely not out of the possibilities.
Remembering how important it is for her mother to not waste resources and proud of the thought knowing her mother would be so appreciative of her savvy mindset; The little girl braves the cold in order to turn the kitchen tap off.
She very quickly throws her blanket off and sits up out of bed, preparing her bare feet for the feeling of ice below her warm sheets.

Drip... Drip... Drip...

That sounds closer than the kitchen.
The girl quiets her mind as she attempts to pinpoint the room of this distracting dripping noise.
The air immediately smells of gun powder and iron.
A stench of burning flesh is present, it is strong and reeks of sin.

The little girl gasps a tiny gasp, her legs still hanging over the side of the bed. Her goosebumps turn from cold chills to shocked raised hairs. She widens her eyes and adjusts them to the moon's glimmer and with the courage she carried to bare her way through the cold, she looks up slowly, her heart begins to race and time seems to slow down.

Drip... Drip... Drip...

A very visibly disembodied man stands by the corner of her bedroom. He's merely a foot away from the little girl's door, there appears to be no escaping this horribly disfigured person.
His arms rest motionless by the sides of his hips, his back is slung as if he were suspended by the ceiling.
The girl completely frozen in fear just sits at the side of her bed watching the blood drip from this man's face.
Drip by drip, the blood never seems to stop. His face has been completely mangled, the right side of his head appears to have been ripped off. He bares no logic to have ever survived such a horrid ordeal. His right eye dangles out of the socket by a single tendon, while his bottom jaw juts toward the ground, half his teeth scattered in parts of his face where teeth do not belong. His tongue dangles out of the massive gaping hole where his jaw should connect to his cheek.
It is a nightmarish scene that defies comprehension.