Page 55 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)
Eva
Feeding the ravens at the bench by the town square is how I spent time on distractions, distractions from a loaded job I endured for a couple of weeks. How animals are evident of a better company than anyone.
Ravens are the most beautiful creatures to ever be created by God.
By the second closest I can be close to is the felines, with their doll-like eyes and long whiskers, their purrs resounded as I combed them with my fingers.
Same rule apply with ravens, too, black feathers ruffled and waddled as soon as they spotted food portions on my palm.
But ravens are much more mysterious than any living creatures.
These large-featured friends in Fort Heaven are larger than a regular sized pigeons, and they squawked a lot, liked to mimic sounds that aren’t familiar, human or an inanimate object like toys and music.
Ravens are intelligent. I fed pigeons, sometimes doves, but ravens are the companions I tolerated.
Their black beaks pecked on my open hand whenever I distributed seeds and pebbled food, or fried cuisines I recognized.
Ravens eat and eat until they’re full. It took them long to trust me, but I approached as softly as I could muster, to catch a glimpse of their silky feathers.
My palms shaken in terror, but I convinced myself that I’m undisruptive because of my gloves.
Like how white moths resided in their dimmed lights and dusted covers and wooded pillars, most ravens resided atop of the buildings, sometimes at tubular wires, watching every shift and hear multiple noises at once.
Raven titled their heads often, and their large puckered beaks squawked once in every minute, sometimes waddled in complete silence.
Moments later, three ravens waddled towards me, their beaks opening. In my pouch, I got the dog treats; stolen from Mrs. Peach’s house and scattered it on the concrete, three birds pecked their meal briskly until heading to collect some more.
The break has extended for us.
Mrs. Rivers announced our lunch break is an estimation of thirty minutes.
Thirty minutes to spare time to gather my thoughts from a crowded area, thirty minutes to recollect and rest my limbs, not wanting for my limbs to tear down from a challenging job, and thirty minutes to place myself in a sanctuary where no one comprehended me.
Thirty minutes was better ten or twenty.
If it was lesser than ten, I might as well collapsed entirely and sleep until tomorrow.
In a lightest hope faintly beating in me, Mrs. Rivers might add another numbers to an exact equal of an hour, but I doubt she wanted her workers to prolong their repose.
She despised people who are lazy, as Adrian mentioned beforehand, and how Mrs. Rivers expressed at a labor instilled an overwhelmed reaction from the nuns.
Two fingers poked on the sides of my waist, turning my head to see Marceline inclining to an empty side of the green bench, her arm swooped back and positioned it on the bench frame as she crossed her legs in a carefree attitude.
“Sup, Sister Eva,” she greeted in a casual way, the chunk range of her platform boots were surprisingly high.
“Hi,” I replied, tossing the food at the ravens, squawked at a lower volume.
“Feeding birds?”
I nodded stiffly, watching the birds flocked in silence, unconfident to start a simple conversation.
People had it easy, and I was stuck.
Boys had it easy, and I stuttered. Boys picked who electrify them for a thrilling moment, boys picked who are easygoing and
Girls had it easy, bubbly and promiscuous, and I was a broken doll who couldn’t mend the damages in decades, tucked myself inside a broken shell I still call ‘home’.
“So are you planning to go to the party?”
“What party?” I muffled in confusion.
“Duh, the party that my other friend was setting up,” Marceline exclaimed. “Everyone worked hard for the past couple of days at the charity event. They’re going to get a huge payment out of this one. Mr. Rivers was generous.”
I perceived a slight grumble coming out from Marceline’s grunted lips.
“I thought it’s Mrs. Rivers who will distribute the money, based on how she took charge with the staff members,” I assumed.
Marceline slumped. “Nah, she’s not going to do it. She’s planning to spend her money on a Dolce she’d spin her spit, mixed it up on her cutesy blender before distributing it to me.
Since then I packed my own lunch from the bakery shop, and it’s not the worst part. ”
“What was the worst part?” I lowered my voice.
“Do you want to know how I got fired from that crazy lady?” she tested.
Again, I anticipated her backstory, engrossed at an unfamiliar territory of gossip.
Marceline shrugged. “Sometimes when I ushered inside her gaudy manor with an emergency key, I heard noises, like, weird noises.”
My brows scrunched. I stopped petting the raven.
“What kind of noises?”
“Trust me, girl, you don’t want to know,” she said, but mischief is hinted in her serious tone, but in unison, she’s regretting her hasty decision, shaking her head in disbelief as if she’s changing her mind.
I, not once, overheard bizarre noises on the third floor whenever I attended. Mostly, in my sleepless nights, I’d often caught little moths shifting against the wood.
Marceline’s tongue clicked. “She’s desperate, I’m telling you. The moment I came in, I hear moans. Not in a painful kind of moan where you’re dying or whatever.”
Silence droned as the ravens stayed in place, puckered its beak to the pebbles after I tossed the rations aiming at them.
“As I got upstairs on the third floor, the door was slightly open, and as I peeked through the gap, I caught not one but three men—three young men on the bed with Mrs. Rivers. Again the situation wasn’t the worst part, three young men who were on the bed with her; they were Adrian’s closest friends—”
“Hey, I’ve been searching all over for you,” a booming voice called.
Romano in his collar-tucked shirt and brown denim pants strutted his way onto us. “Sup, Marceline,” he said with a wide grin.
Marceline smiled dryly. “I didn’t know you’re going to show up.”
“I know this town like the back of my hand,” Romano responded brightly.
“Uh-huh,” Marceline said, her form went sluggish at his sudden entrance.
“And I know everyone in this town,” he added mirthfully, his sardonic grin deepened.
Marceline’s brow flicked up at his gesture. “Don’t you have work to do? I overheard you got in trouble.”
“Me? Getting myself into big trouble?” Romano blew a raspberry. “I would never. I’m a gentleman.”
“Jeez, you fuckin’ spit on me, you asshat,” Marceline hissed under her breath, swiping his spit.
Then his eyes veered at me. “Hi, Sister Eden,” he greeted lowly and friendless.
I got myself distracted by the ravens, tapping its foot on my lap, demanding me to pet.