Page 64 of Eyes Like Angel

I huffed again, viewing at the miserable and stern crowd.

“Don’t stress out, okay? I’ll be helping you,” he coaxed.

“Alright. Good luck, Micah,” I said with a tension lessened on my shoulders.

“We got this.”

Then he left my side and went at the right direction.

***

Hours went by, and the homeless were fulfilled in a matter of minutes. Just one distribution and they’re all set.

None of them said their gratitude but it’s enough to save time so I keep up and be grateful for a time-saving method,anticipating the time to look forward onto Micha’s session on memes and internet.

Only two people thanked me.

Two was better than none.

I was gratified of my accomplishments I made throughout the day.

Five minutes were set in, and Micah will show me the ropes on learning modern slang and trends on this social media platform, whatever he mentioned earlier. I bet the social media contained in endless content and inside jokes I hadn’t fully grasp, humor to cope, humor to distract from an everyday occurrence, this misery and hindrance, this plain and crumbling hours in day to day routine.

Learning the unknown startled me, like being in a cage with lions and poisonous snakes, unsure if it’s good to approach and learn its capabilities, relying on my untrusted instincts if it hurts or not.

I snapped myself out of this fear, knowing it does more harm than good in self-ruination. If I keep guessing, it wouldn’t lead me to the answers I searched for. Or, be aware of catching up to social cues.

Micah once mentioned that talking about social media is a head start for people to swing their heads to full attention.

In other words, I must fashion myself anew.

But how could I?

Sister Joanne’s words pricked, each time I was curious and unacquainted in today’s world.

It’s a sin, she said.Do you want to go to hell, nun? Nuns like you shouldn’t be learning about the world, only to God and the Bible verses. Be good if you still want to have shelter by the church attic. Without us, without your precious attic to sleep and wake in, you’re nothing—homeless. You’d be out in the streets right now, so I suggest you stop asking stupid questions.

I gathered myself back to reality, remembering her rules, the God’s law.

Her rules, not mine.

Not a single person taught me in modernized society, or left an impression in me to grasp new aspects. Along the path I sauntered, I distributed a handful of coffee cake to the homeless at the stand, another assignment instructed by Mrs. Rivers.

A few people took coffee cake off of my hands, given me gratitude before heading back at their spots.

The line was nearly done, and I was relieved.

After the last two people getting their dessert, Mrs. Rivers dismissed me. I took it as a good sign because she not once grumbled or object or correct me at the onuses.

By the time I ambled alongside a long path, my chest was rising in anticipation and willfulness to educate myself on his teachings.

My heart sank in the pit of my stomach.

I spotted a long, wavy blond hair and dark-shaded hues spotting me, blended in with his trench coat and suit, all in a darkest shade of black.

Swarmed by adoring girls, every sound and every syllable cried out drowned out the other noises, I recalled back to a previous night where Emily sputtered out her hatred on me, rang into my faint consciousness.

“Since nobody wants to say it, I have to. I have to be the hero. I have to be the good guy. So go, and don’t even bother to come back. You don’t belong here.”