The Messenger

I’m Angelina, she says. Are you here to save us? I can see a tiny spark of hope awaken in her eyes.
You’re right, Angelina - I’m here to save you.
Can you? Really?
I’ll try, I say and the girl smiles.

All my friends seem to be smart arses. Don't ask me why. Like many things, it is what it is.

He's most likely robbing the bank as a paycheck on the world for winning the ugliness prize at his local fete three years running.

She looks at the swings, and I can see she’s imagining what they’d look like if the kids weren’t there. The guilt of this holds her down momentarily. It appears to be there constantly. Never far away, despite her love for them.
I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.

When her hands reached out and poured the tea, it was as if she also poured something into me while I sat there sweating in my cab. It was like she held a string and pulled on it just slightly to open me up. She got in, put a piece of herself inside me, and left again.

Why can’t the world hear? I ask myself. Within a few moments I ask it many times. Because it doesn’t care, I finally answer, and I know I’m right. It’s like I’ve been chosen. But chosen for what? I ask.