Angela had grown up, bathed in the harsh neon lights that flooded her neighbourhood. She had lived in a tiny flat with her aunt, uncle and brother with only one bed for the four of them. Also, the kitchen had been so unclean that the health department would have wanted to shut it down. Along with the bathroom having only the most basic of facilities, the table being quite literally on its last legs and the outside of the oven getting so hot that it could have set the nearby old and decaying curtains on fire, that flat was one of Angela’s favourite places.
But not because of anything inside. In their main living area there was a small window which Angela would sit on the narrow windowsill and just stare at the world walking by a long way below her. She often spent her time, when others her age were in school, drawing pictures of the ants on the ground.
Her other main love was staring at the giant sign on the building opposite. After living there for countless years, to that day she still couldn’t read or remember what it said but in her mind she could vividly imagine the pure white light that it gave off. Regardless of how much she was told to move, she stood her ground and paid the price.
That light had become imprinted into her mind. It was more than just a memory now; that light had become tattooed on all aspects of her brain and now everything seemed a little brighter. The main problem was that, as a pessimistic person, she hated the irony of her visionary confusion.
Then, that morning, something caught her eye driving through the already bustling street. Something that darted through the slalom of practically parked cars, past the traffic jam everyone else seemed to be very annoyed about, towards the traffic lights where it obediently stopped.
It was a motorbike. But not just any ordinary one – it seemed to be made of a mixture of almost reflective black plastic and beams of light. She didn’t want to waste another second. She sprinted out of the flat, moving faster than she had, even when there had been a fire the floor above. Angela skipped most of the steps on her way down, her desire to get a better look made her take a lot more risks than she usually would, leaping down multiple steps at a time.
The problem was that she didn’t quite judge it right. She tried to take four steps at once but the sole of her shoe landed on the edge of a step and so she overbalanced, falling down the staircase that was a fair bit longer than it had been a second ago. She screamed as she came closer to the steps, closer to the concrete blocks, closer to pain.