Babydoll
Angel
I’m sure you know what an angel is.
Definition: Angel – noun
1. One of a class of spiritual beings; a celestial attendant of God.
2. A conventional representation of such a being, in human form, with wings, usually in white robes.
Bullshit. Angel’s aren’t clothed in glowing white with soft silken wings. They don’t have lush honey blonde locks that sway behind them.
However, there are two more definition of an angel;
3. An attendant or guardian spirit.
4. a person having qualities generally attributed to an angel, as beauty, purity, or kindliness.
Now that’s a real angel. That’s my Babydoll. My Babydoll was my angel.
Beneath the intricate designs etched on her skin, the deadly hue of her glassy eyes, the cold rings that hung from her ears and lips there was an angel. A girl graced with a striking, deep allure. A face unmarred by time.
Anyone can find beauty in whatever he or she choose to see. But true beauty cannot be simply seen. It must be found. It must be searched for within a person.
I found beauty in Babydoll. And this is our story. This is her story.
At the age of 22 I realised I was an empty soul. I was a phantom, a shadow in the summer shade. A pitiful existence that felt the same emotions, experiences and fears as the world around me. A whirlwind life, succulent with opportunity and loss. No different from yours or your friends no doubt. For a very long time this never bothered me.
I laughed, I cried, I drank, I smiled, I yelled. What human didn’t? I was alive, life flashing before me. One way to put it is the knife was scratching against my skin, never breaking in and never drawing blood.
It was life in a cold sweat. That’s what she called it, anyway.
I was working at a small branch of HMV in a large mall in East London. My bachelor’s degree in art and design was yet to pay off and I was working full time on a gap year.
Not exactly what I had planned for it, but I didn’t have anything planned I guess. And working full time meant the bills were far easier to pay. Money slipped through my hands like downy feathers but I was getting by. No kid straight out of university is going to be a fucking millionaire anyway.
I can’t say my job was too demanding either; 9-5 behind a counter, directing the odd teen to the metal section and the odd mother to the children’s DVD. Not bad. Lifeless and dull, but not bad. 20% discounts weren’t bad either.
Home was a one bedroom flat not far away. I took the tube. Subway for all you American people. Life can feel like a ride on the tube don’t you think?
And I was one of those poor guys who falls asleep and misses their station, only to wake up in panic and frenzy.
I know what you’re doing; you’re anticipating my story already. You’re sitting poised at your second rate computer or lounging with your snazzy laptop and smirking. You’re assuming I meet this Babydoll girl at HMV and we fall madly in love. And everything’s picture fucking perfect.
Don’t assume.
She’s not the cliché type.
Definition: Angel – noun
1. One of a class of spiritual beings; a celestial attendant of God.
2. A conventional representation of such a being, in human form, with wings, usually in white robes.
Bullshit. Angel’s aren’t clothed in glowing white with soft silken wings. They don’t have lush honey blonde locks that sway behind them.
However, there are two more definition of an angel;
3. An attendant or guardian spirit.
4. a person having qualities generally attributed to an angel, as beauty, purity, or kindliness.
Now that’s a real angel. That’s my Babydoll. My Babydoll was my angel.
Beneath the intricate designs etched on her skin, the deadly hue of her glassy eyes, the cold rings that hung from her ears and lips there was an angel. A girl graced with a striking, deep allure. A face unmarred by time.
Anyone can find beauty in whatever he or she choose to see. But true beauty cannot be simply seen. It must be found. It must be searched for within a person.
I found beauty in Babydoll. And this is our story. This is her story.
At the age of 22 I realised I was an empty soul. I was a phantom, a shadow in the summer shade. A pitiful existence that felt the same emotions, experiences and fears as the world around me. A whirlwind life, succulent with opportunity and loss. No different from yours or your friends no doubt. For a very long time this never bothered me.
I laughed, I cried, I drank, I smiled, I yelled. What human didn’t? I was alive, life flashing before me. One way to put it is the knife was scratching against my skin, never breaking in and never drawing blood.
It was life in a cold sweat. That’s what she called it, anyway.
I was working at a small branch of HMV in a large mall in East London. My bachelor’s degree in art and design was yet to pay off and I was working full time on a gap year.
Not exactly what I had planned for it, but I didn’t have anything planned I guess. And working full time meant the bills were far easier to pay. Money slipped through my hands like downy feathers but I was getting by. No kid straight out of university is going to be a fucking millionaire anyway.
I can’t say my job was too demanding either; 9-5 behind a counter, directing the odd teen to the metal section and the odd mother to the children’s DVD. Not bad. Lifeless and dull, but not bad. 20% discounts weren’t bad either.
Home was a one bedroom flat not far away. I took the tube. Subway for all you American people. Life can feel like a ride on the tube don’t you think?
And I was one of those poor guys who falls asleep and misses their station, only to wake up in panic and frenzy.
I know what you’re doing; you’re anticipating my story already. You’re sitting poised at your second rate computer or lounging with your snazzy laptop and smirking. You’re assuming I meet this Babydoll girl at HMV and we fall madly in love. And everything’s picture fucking perfect.
Don’t assume.
She’s not the cliché type.