Categories > TV > Angel > Ask Me No Questions, and I'll Tell You No Lies
My life started in a car. A Buick, to be exact. My mother was on the way to the hospital, and actually she’d been there just days before. The doctor told her to come in on Wednesday. I was born on Tuesday. My Dad was driving my mom to the hospital and she had me in the backseat. I used to tell anyone who would listen that I was born in a Corvette.
My mom’s name was Rose Black. I don’t know what the deal was, maybe my grandparents were flower obsessed or something. I never knew them, they died when I was seven months old. My Dad was called Ryan Violet. Sucky name for him. Anyway, he wanted a boy. The doc told him I was a boy. I think it’s pretty evident at this point I am so not a boy. But he couldn’t let go of the name he had picked out: Darien the third. So I was Darien. Never, ever called Ryan though. I wouldn’t let anyone shorten my name to that. I experimented on nicknames, like Dari, Ari, or just Rie. None of them worked out, they just didn’t sound like me.
If you ask some of my friends…or if you had while they were alive….they would have told you I was boy enough for all of them. I never liked what they liked, shopping, playing dress up, and so forth. No, I was more of a football playing, rifle shooting type of girl. And I think that’s what saved me. I think that’s why I was able to cope with everything, you know? I never broke down like them, never cried about having a boyfriend or whatever. Then again, I never did have a boyfriend when I was in school.
Oh, and about school. I graduated when I was fifteen, about two years ago. I was the smartest in my class. I skipped Kindergarten, first grade, and third grade. After that it was pretty rough going. I was always with older kids. And not all of them (not even most of them) accepted me. They called me the freaky genius girl. They got mad because I wouldn’t even do their homework for them. Poor degenerate jocks. Such idiots they will always be, flipping Burgers at some cheap joint that isn’t prized for food that’s digestible.
Now you’d probably like to know what I look like. Well I got my long black hair from my mom. And my silvery eyes from the invisible ghost who lives in the attic. Not really, and no there weren’t any ghosts living in my parents’ house. My house, yeah, but not theirs. I really don’t know where I got my eyes. They’re silver, with black rings around the irises. Very unique. Anyway, I got my height from my dad, who is six foot three. I’m about five foot ten. Only five inches apart. And you have to give my mom’s genes some blame there, too. She’s only five two. My complexion I got from my Mom, I’m olive skinned and I tan easily. At least I don’t burn from the sun, like some of my friends. And I use friends very loosely in this case.
Life was normal for me, until I turned about fifteen. Until I almost graduated from that school in Indiana. And of course, before I got a permanent beauty mark on the neck. No, I’m not a vampire. But I think when that vampire bit me, something else got in my veins. Something not entirely human.
My mom’s name was Rose Black. I don’t know what the deal was, maybe my grandparents were flower obsessed or something. I never knew them, they died when I was seven months old. My Dad was called Ryan Violet. Sucky name for him. Anyway, he wanted a boy. The doc told him I was a boy. I think it’s pretty evident at this point I am so not a boy. But he couldn’t let go of the name he had picked out: Darien the third. So I was Darien. Never, ever called Ryan though. I wouldn’t let anyone shorten my name to that. I experimented on nicknames, like Dari, Ari, or just Rie. None of them worked out, they just didn’t sound like me.
If you ask some of my friends…or if you had while they were alive….they would have told you I was boy enough for all of them. I never liked what they liked, shopping, playing dress up, and so forth. No, I was more of a football playing, rifle shooting type of girl. And I think that’s what saved me. I think that’s why I was able to cope with everything, you know? I never broke down like them, never cried about having a boyfriend or whatever. Then again, I never did have a boyfriend when I was in school.
Oh, and about school. I graduated when I was fifteen, about two years ago. I was the smartest in my class. I skipped Kindergarten, first grade, and third grade. After that it was pretty rough going. I was always with older kids. And not all of them (not even most of them) accepted me. They called me the freaky genius girl. They got mad because I wouldn’t even do their homework for them. Poor degenerate jocks. Such idiots they will always be, flipping Burgers at some cheap joint that isn’t prized for food that’s digestible.
Now you’d probably like to know what I look like. Well I got my long black hair from my mom. And my silvery eyes from the invisible ghost who lives in the attic. Not really, and no there weren’t any ghosts living in my parents’ house. My house, yeah, but not theirs. I really don’t know where I got my eyes. They’re silver, with black rings around the irises. Very unique. Anyway, I got my height from my dad, who is six foot three. I’m about five foot ten. Only five inches apart. And you have to give my mom’s genes some blame there, too. She’s only five two. My complexion I got from my Mom, I’m olive skinned and I tan easily. At least I don’t burn from the sun, like some of my friends. And I use friends very loosely in this case.
Life was normal for me, until I turned about fifteen. Until I almost graduated from that school in Indiana. And of course, before I got a permanent beauty mark on the neck. No, I’m not a vampire. But I think when that vampire bit me, something else got in my veins. Something not entirely human.
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