An Angel in the Garden
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I walked outside that day, and what was there, but the angel. Well durr de hurr. It's a statue. It doesn't just run around and go to clubs while I'm gone. At least, I think so.
More to the point, there it was, crying its eyes out, but the interesting thing is, it had sunglasses.
Obviously, as I pointed out, it had slabs of rock pretending to be hands covering its eyes. So the sunglasses weren't actually being worn. They hung on his ears, the lenses resting on his hairline. I considered it.
"Hey Jack!" I called to my brother.
"What…" he edged outside, his eyes trained on the angel.
"Did you put those sunglasses on the statue?" I asked. He sort of glared at me while still looking at the angel.
"Do you think I would put something on that freaky thing?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Well, maybe you had some weird theory about how the materials making up the sunglasses would bleed into its brain, somehow rendering it immobile. Which would be unnecessary. As it's a statue. It's already immobile." I pointed out in my best posh accent.
He glared at me. "You'll see. It'll get you!" he yelled.
"Go back to making your tinfoil hats, and preparing for the alien apocalypse why don't you?" I quipped.
He took his index finger and his middle finger, pointed at his eyes, then at the angel. "I'm watching you…" he said as he edged away.
I shrugged. "Yikes." I turned back to the angel.
Lo and behold, for once in his life, my brother was right.
The thing moved.
The same statue I had lived with my whole life, the same dull grey colour, but this time, his hands were making finger guns at me. I kid you not, finger guns. Like your thumb is the hammer, your index finger is the barrel? Yeah.
And he was smirking at me, the sunglasses now on his face. I just kinda stared for a second.
"Erm…" I blanked out. I mean, how do you respond to that? I followed where he was aiming at with his fingers.
A note was laying on the ground. I glanced back at the angel, who hadn't moved. I picked it up.
It read "Hola, mis amigo! In case you don't know, that means "hello, my friend" in Spanish. Well, now that your brother is a full blown conspiracy theorist, I would recommend leaving pictures of me, (Duh, I'm the angel,) around the house. Just to keep him on his toes. Well, here's how it works. My race is known as 'The Weeping Angels.' Why have you never seen me move before? I can only move when I'm not being observed by any living being. It's called quantum locking. I actually DON'T EXIST when anybody's looking at me. So yeah, I've technically never been seen. By the way, if you want to hold a conversation, mind using a blindfold? It's pretty annoying when you keep looking at me and asking me questions and I can't say ANYTHING. So stop it. In order to have a voice I would have to rip the vocal cords out of a human being and use them, but I'm guessing you don't like that idea, so I'll just use a pencil. Which I have a hoard of. But anyways, if you don't mind having conversations with me, I like 'em, being as my race is called the Lonely Assassins. Haha, now you're gonna squirm because you know I'm right behind you. It's okay, that's because we feed off potential energy. A trick we've learned is to send people back in time, and let them live themselves to death. They get a full life, and we get all the energy that would have been used in their future. I like to see it as a new start. No, before you ask, I don't intend on doing that to YOU. Last time I fed was when your dog was going to the pound, remember? Yeah, I sent him back in time to give him a new start. And I was hungry. So I got a nice little meal, he got free from the pound, all that jazz. If you have any other questions, close your eyes, ask me, give it about two seconds, and I should have answered."
In case you're wondering why I didn't separate that into paragraphs, it's because my mate didn't. Okay? Okay.
Now what do I do?
Because I am a perfectly logical and rational being, I decide to laugh.
I look back at him. His eyebrows are raised and he's looking at me like an idiot.
"Sorry, sorry." I raise my hands. I blink, not even realizing it, and suddenly, he's up in my personal space, grinning.
I don't know what my brother was talking about. No sharp teeth.
I growled at him. "Don't make me blow my rape whistle." I threaten. I kind of turn back and he tears my shirt. THE NERVE. I spin back. "Look, bugger off! I don't want to get all intimate in the middle of my garden." I snap.
Then I realized how mad this is. This can't be happening. It can't.
I won't lie. I broke down and cried. Not a girly cry, mind you. But I had a good cry.
I felt a strip of cloth cover my eyes and tie around my head. I look around and realize he blindfolded me.
"Oh, I get it." I huff. "Could of warned me. In my culture, ripping off somebody's shirt is not acceptable in public."
I hear scratching and I peek through my blindfold at the note. "Sorry. In my culture, clothes are just a disguise. I didn't know it worked like that here."
I stare at what I think is his general direction. "You actually didn't know that you can't just randomly take off my clothes?"
"Turn around, ya silly. No. I didn't. But don't you have humany wumany stuff to be doing?" I pull off the blindfold and try to sneak into the house.
I glance back at him, but he's on his pedestal, crying. I have the notes with me and my blindfold.
"Who were you talking to?" My mum asks, tapping a ladle lightly on her hand. "I was making babies with my boyfriend. Who do you think?" I ask tiredly.
"WHAT?" My mom shrieks.
"Not really!" I cry. "Damn, you shriek loud. I was just talking."
My mom glares. "About ripping off your shirt? Yeah, I'm sure there wasn't an ulterior motive. Go to room."
I trudge to my room, grumbling "I'm not three, Mom." But on the bright side, I'm now in my room, I have my notes, and my mom didn't notice my ruined shirt.
I tack up the notes and change shirts. It's a pretty simple T-shirt that reads 'I believe in Nargles.' Well, after all this stress, I decide to listen to Adele. For the hell of it.
A few songs later, I must say, I don't appreciate the way ALL of her songs are about boys.
Well, all's well that ends well.
If you can apply that to being violated by an alien statue.
Well, this is me, signing off my journal. Nah, I'm just kidding.
Now, keep in mind, right now I'm snorting at my own wit, when I hear a big bang. I run out of my room and look outside. What I saw, I will never forget.