Angel Wings Broken

ANGEL WINGS 

 BROKEN

S.N. GUGA

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: 1-800-839-8640

© 2012 by S.N. Guga. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/10/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-0484-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-0485-9 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

PREFACE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

PREFACE

Face glued to the cold dirt road, I wondered where I was. The heavy pungent smell of fear lurking beneath my eyes, made such an easy exercise to open them rather thorny. The light sprinkle of rain upon my face gave source to my being. I was alive but where was I? Cuddled stiff like a cat in its bed, I remained emotionless. Drifting in and out of utter sanity became the game of the hour.

Giving in to my fear, my eye twitched and gave sight. Barely focusing, my consciousness refused to comprehend. The lack of scenery vexed my conscience. Barren in its setting, I knew I was in a deserted area. No car, nor animal, nor plant in sight; just a lifeless body lying in the dirt like a tossed up rag doll. How did I end up here? Endless questions raced back and forth without a course to run. No prize given to the brightest boy in town; for I had failed to answer my own questions.

Moving from my position of comfort, sharp jolts raised up and down my spine. An immediate reaction to let out a cry of pain was met by silence. My voice box had been emptied of all its contents and left with a shallow breath of air. What had become of me? Memories of yesterday were far gone. No recollect of the events that had preceded today.

That comforting shower of rain became a river emptied into a sieve. Without shelter in sight, I sat on the wet dirt road. A gush of mud sipping through my jeans but without a care, I felt nothing. Again I found my mind cooked up in a race yet my whole being felt at a standstill. Mental diagnosis had been given. By who? You ask. Well, who else was around except for me?! This was insane, pure insanity at its premature state. Who wakes up not knowing who they are and where they are? I for sure had become a victim of that kleptomaniac, that very individual who prides himself in stealing a man’s sanity.

At some point, my life was never like this. I know because this feeling is unusual. So farfetched, that getting acquainted with it; is hard to fathom. What’s my name? I yell. Funny how loud you sound when you are alone and worst of all, the voice that replies resembles your own. The boy without a name. I answer myself. Insanity at its best but who was around to judge me except for the skies and the mud around?

Fighting off the cousin of death, I soon gave in and lost the battle. Thumping my head on the wet sand, I fell into a deep slumber. My insanity had completely taken over me. Even my dreams failed to fulfil sanity. Confused mental images, made tracing my past a task worth running away from. Sadly my insatiable desire to rediscover my one true self prior this horrid moment became unpalatable. Even I would not look at me, let alone sit beside me. Complete disgrace to the human race. What would my mother think of me? Wait! Did I even have a mother?

Cradled in the comfort of my surroundings, the chirping sounds of birds soon aroused my awakening. Drenched in my mental state, I denied my existence. Heavy eyed and soaked like a sponge, I lay there stiff. The cold breeze of the morning made living impossible. Death would have been palatable than living. This confused state of mind was hard to acknowledge. It felt like a disease, robbing me of my happiness. I needed help, I needed someone. The torture was truly unbearable and my mental capacity seemed to degrade by the nano second.

And then, suddenly a bolt of lightning raced to the earth, splitting its ground like a nut being cracked. Stunned by the horrific yet eventful sight, I remained seated. A bright light paced its way towards me. Confused and dumb found, I watched as it grew bigger with every move. The heat intensity it brought with it was enough to fry my eyes but still they opened wider than ever. Stuck to the ground I enjoyed this magnificent splendour, little did I know what was yet to come would change my life. I had asked for it, therefore I got it. Funny how when you want something, you crave for it with such a voracious yearn and when it has been delivered, you carp its presence. This strange light pierced through me and darkness invaded. The story of my life began to unravel before my eyes.

CHAPTER 1

Growing Pains

Growing up in the poor streets of Cuba made life a dangerous gift. Born to a father notoriously known for his occupation as a drug dealer and a mother who roamed the streets at night; left a lot to be said about my future. My father was a fiend. Lacked mercy in his eyes, let alone a thing called love in his touch. Carlos Sombreja was his name. He was as scrawny as they came but had the meanest face on the block. He always wore an eye patch, never knew why but finally I was told. Apparently he got into a fight with one of his drug lord’s and to cut a long story short, they gouged his eye out. Sadly the story did not end there, they told him to eat his eye or they would kill him. He is still breathing, so there is one answer there!

I guess that experience provoked anger and hatred. He was cold as the Antarctic Sea, brutal as a heartless dictator and as vicious as a wild pit bull. If I could describe him in one word, I would say he was a tyrant; an oppressive, harsh man who exercised power in our household and on the streets.

He had fathered many children but he never wanted anything to do with them. We were lucky that he even bothered to come home. Not to say that we were happy. The ambience he brought as soon as he stepped in the yard was of evilness. I feared him more than I loved him. I felt like his seed more than his most prized son. Whenever he looked at me, he had anger in his eyes. Always blamed me for not living up to his standards. Which standards? I wondered but only he knew.

My mother, Carolina Gomez, beautiful in every way possible. She had a heart of an angel. Her precious pale face with rosy cheeks and hazel eyes made her stand out in a crowd of many. She would hold me like there was no tomorrow. Speak in to my future, with the hope that I would not end up like my father. She had hopes and big dreams for me, eager to see me succeed. Sadly my father’s so called profession failed to generate enough income to support the family; so my mother became ‘a lady of the night.’ I would watch her get dressed in the skimpiest of outfits and plaster make up on her face. I despised her second personality. She was different. Probably the alcohol she would drink before becoming ‘Sheila’ as she used to say, made her change. She would walk out of the house without saying a word to me, not even a smile. Her ability to transform from being a warm and caring soul to a callous woman was hard to fathom. I was young and I needed her love.

Every night i was left alone, thirteen years old in a notorious neighbourhood. It seemed like my parents did not care, maybe somewhere they did but they hardly showed it.

My father would come home high as a kite on the drugs he sold. His mood depended on how much money he had made. I always assumed he did not make a lot because he would cuss at my mother.

You useless woman, get up and got to work. He would say. And don’t you dare return unless you’ve made enough money for the week.

Without a word spoken, she would do exactly as he had ordered.

I used to find refuge in the closet. It became my safe haven. I never had fancy things as a child, so safety became my priority, hence the closet becoming my best friend. Cuddled up in the still of the night, I spoke endless words to myself. Was this an early stage of insanity? No, I was friendless, so I became my company. Whilst cradled in my closet, a loud bang woke me up.

You stupid woman, what are you doing here? My father yelled.

"Carlos