The fourth Scottish angel that wasn’t even a whole angel... I was always last.
When I grew up, I’d show them. I’d buy an Amazon rainforest, and all the trees that touched the sky would be mine.
I’d buy a store with bottles covered in angels and no one would even get a piece of wing.
Sulking, I sat on the ground and leaned my anger against the little orange tree.
Glória walked away, smiling. “That anger of yours won’t last, Zezé. You’ll see that I was right.”
I scratched at the ground with a stick and was beginning to stop sniffling, when I heard a voice coming from I don’t know where, near my heart.
“I think your sister’s right.” “Everyone’s always right. I’m the one who never is.”
“That’s not true. If you’d just take a proper look at me, you’d see.”
With a start, I scrambled up and stared at the little tree.
It was strange because I always talked to everything, but I thought it was the little bird inside me that made everything talk back.
“But can you really talk?” “Can’t you hear me?” And it gave a little chuckle.
I almost screamed and ran away. But curiosity kept me there.
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