The story is about a young girl name Addie. Addie Carnegie. This is a tale of humor, wit, adolescence, and the true meaning of freedom. Addie is a 12 year old feeble girl trying to figure out who she is, and who she wants to be. This story is delicate, intimate, and electric. Allow Addie to grip her small broken hands on your heart and push you into a world filled with angels, devils, life lessons, and forgiveness.

“Come on! You’re almost at the top!”, yelled Jeremy. “I can’t! I’m coming down!”, I managed to scream out. There I was, stuck in a 15 foot tree. I was almost at the top, but I was afraid. Death looked me straight into the face. I kissed him. He blushed. “Sissy!”, all the boys yelled at me. My eyes became tsunamis instantly. As I tried to climb down my foot got tangled with a branch and I





























tumbled all the way down ending with a hard kiss to the gravel. I could feel my front tooth go though my lip. As I could feel the summer warm blood run down my mouth like the Niagara Falls I realized how weak I was. Legs covered in red blood and dirt, my face looked exactly the same. My strawberry blonde hair was in a tangled mess. My blue and white striped shirt was covered in dirt. My legs looked as if I tried to shave with sandpaper and broken glass. I was humiliated. “Addie, just look at you!”, the boys called to me. “You’re a mess, go home loser!”. And just like that I took off running home at the speed of light.

Approaching my house, I quickly ran behind my house to rinse off with the house. My mother and father would kill me if they saw me with wet eyes and open skin. I felt like a fish out of water, completely out of breath as I stand there drenched in water. I shook my body like a wet dog and ran inside the broken white door to my house. “Addie Nadine Carnegie!”, my mother scolded. “Why in mothers nature do you resemble a beaten, wet dog?”. Her mothers eyebrows knit together. “Well, I sorta fell down in a puddle. I lied. “Was it a muddy, bloody puddle?”, my mother asked. “No ma’am”, I said. I was shaking with fear. Not because I lied to my mom and she was smart enough to know I was lying, but because I could hear God writing my name on his Hell list. Could he ever forgive me?


Staring at a plate of mashed potatoes and pork chops I had an epiphany. If I didn’t want people laughing at me, I would have to learn to laugh at myself. That way, nothing would be funny. After stuffing my face I ran upstairs to my room and quickly doodled on white paper.

I drew a picture of me, mouth wide open with a big toothy smile laughing, laughing hard. My gums were showing and my hands were in the air. I drew my strawberry blonde hair as a trail of beauty. I drew myself breathtaking beautiful, completely opposite of what I saw in the mirror. I glanced over at the small delicate girl staring back at me. She was weird and unpopular. She was bruised, inside and out. She had hate in her heart and love in her imagination. Every bruise on her body stood for every painful event she had been through. She was a strong angel, just with broken wings. I laid my head on my pillow and demanded my conscious to be quiet. I didn’t count sheep; I counted the sore torn bruises on my body. I counted up to 22, then drifted off into Paradise.

“Get up you’re going to be late for school!” Under the soft cotton sheets I lay restless. Opening my eyes I could see bright light. I prayed I was in heaven. I prayed God drained my lifeless soul and took me to heaven away from my pain. It was just the sun in my eyes. I pushed my sore body up and out of my comforting bed. I placed my bruised, broken hands over my eyes. I saw darkness. Was that what people saw when they looked at me? I managed to carry myself into the shower. I turned the water on hot and let my soul burn with desired fear. I let God cleanse me of all unrighteousness. I felt something happening to me. I started to wake up. A half smile washed
over my face. This was me trying to be normal. I quickly tied my hair into a ballet bun and got dressed. There I stood in a red t shirt, ripped shorts and white shoes. I didn’t have time to eat breakfast so I poured a glass of orange juice and headed out the door. On my way walking to school I heard my tummy growling and the autumn breeze rustle through the trees.

On my way there I passed Ms. Hemingway’s house. Ms. Hemingway was a beautiful goddess. It wasn’t just the way she looked; her beauty was something inside of her. It was a flower blooming inside her. She watered it with happiness. It was the way she walked, the way she spoke with others, the way she sipped her coffee and read the morning paper. It was the way she looked at me. As if she knew something about me that I was trying to learn about myself. As if I had a list of questions and she had a bucket of answers. As my mind was controlled by these thoughts I managed to slip and fall on the hard concrete. I tore my elbow skin. A red sea appeared on my forearm.

“Oh my child are you alright?”, she said. I quickly looked up to see she was an angel sent down from heaven. It was Ms. Hemingway. There, she stood in a white gown. I couldn’t tell if she was wearing makeup or if she was naturally beautiful. I think it was both. Her chestnut brown hair was tied in a very neat and secure bun. Her lips were ruby red. Her cheeks were stained with pink. She was perfect and I was far below average. She stood there with a perplexed look on her face. “Well are you going to just sit there everytime you fall or are you going to get

up?”. There was something about the way she spoke to me. There was a deeper message behind what she was telling me. She didn’t mean falling down physically, she meant emotionally.

I quickly jumped up on my feet and wiped the blood on my run down jeans. “I’m fine”, I said. Ms. Hemingway stood there with her arms crossed looking me in the eyes. “Won’t you come in?”, she said with a keen smile. “Well I am on my way to school”, I said. She stood there, not
accepting my statement. I have been curious about Mrs. Hemingway and her lifestyle. I wondered what she watched on television, her favorite movies, her favorite board games. I wondered what she ate for breakfast. I wondered what run though her mind when she laid in bed at night. I wondered if she had any skeletons in her closet, or if she had a whole graveyard. I wondered if it was true. Is it really the most beautiful women who are the loneliest? “Sure”, I said threw pursed lips. I was hesitant but nervous. I was thrilled, but nervous. As Ms. Hemingway and I walked to her house I noticed a different feel. It suddenly got cold. The leaves spun around and I realized I was sinning, again. “Please, make yourself at home”, Mrs. Hemingway said as she studied me. There, she held the door open for my slender body to float through. My heart was pounding and my throat locked up. I kept smiling.

The house was almost as beautiful as the woman herself. Everything was gleaming. It was like heaven. The sofa was floral print and was wrapped in plastic. The furniture was wooden mahogany and shining ever so bright. I thought I was seeing stars. “Please sit”, she demanded. I
was sweating. Hard. I was getting exactly what I wanted but I didn’t know how to deal. I sat on the sofa, feeling my sweaty legs and arms getting stuck to the plastic. She sat right next to me and held both of her hands resting on her knee. She was a lady of class and I would never expect less of her. She was perfect, every pore on her face every hair on her head was on order. It was as if she was a living doll. She was unbelievable. There were two glasses filled with some type of liquid already sitting on the glass table. My heart stopped.


She planned this. She knew she was going to invite me over today. She probably even planned my fall today. This is a trap. Get out while you can. “So tell me about yourself”, she whispered. I positioned myself in a more mature gesture. “Well I’m Addie, I like school, I love everything, and I’m pretty happy”, I said with a big smile. She looked at me. She studied me. “No you’re not, stop lying”, she said as she looked into my eyes. “You’re broken and I want to fix you”, she said as she handed me a glass. It was sparking. It was a drink that smelled sharp like razor blades and strong like grenades. I took the drink and gluped it down. Flashes. Flashes occurred. Flashbacks of my painful past and all the feelings I thought I forgot. Flashes of my parents beating me as I lay in a pool of red blood. I saw the moon and the stars. I saw cupid and I saw all the planets. I met Jesus and I climbed to heaven. My head was spinning. I wanted to throw up but I kept my head down so if I do vomit, I don’t choke on it. Mrs. Hemingway sat there looking at me with big soft eyes. I had no control. A monster had taken over my well being. I closed my eyes and counted darkness.

I woke up. I found myself in a bathroom that didn’t belong to me. I was bathing in ice cold water. I was drowning but I was afloat. I quickly jumped up and rzn for the door. “You’re dripping all over my brand new white carpet”, Ms. Hemingway said with anger. “Well you shouldn’t have put me in an ice bath”, I protested. She squinted her eyes at me. “You shouldn’t have skipped school to get drunk”, she whispered. My mouth dropped. Ms. Hemingway gave me alcohol. Why would she poison me? “My child, why aren’t you at school getting an education?, no wonder you’re so stupid”, she said as she walked away. Before I could say something I had an epiphany. There I was standing in a strangers house soaking wet with a hangover. I was stupid. I quickly ran home and decided to do something.

I threw all my wet clothes on the floor and took a hot shower. I pretended that the shower water was holy water. Water God was putting on me to cleanse me of unrighteousness. I dried off and sat at my desk with my pencil in my right hand. I made a list, I list of everything I wanted to be. I wanted to be pretty. I wanted to be beautiful. I wanted to be forgiven. I wrote it all down and repeated every line. I memorized it like a speech. I wanted to change and I knew I could do what it took to make it happen. I knew that every time I fell down I would have to get right back up. I knew that now I was a student and I knew Ms. Hemingway was a great teacher. I quickly packed my things and ran to her house, caution not to slip on anything. I knocked on her door. The white crimson paint was stronger than my weary torn knuckles.

“

What do you want?”, Ms. Hemingway said. There she stood in a soft peach blouse and white jeans. Her feet were wearing bare skin. Her toes were painted with ruby red polish. Her hair was curled and flowing like a dark sea. I stared in awe. She was a devil with wings. She was taking me to heaven but still somehow punishing me for being a sinner. “I want you to be my teacher”, I said. I could feel my throat closing up. I felt my rosy cheeks tuning cherry red. “Well come on in and I’ll teach you everything you need to know”, said says. I follow her into her sinful heaven being welcomed to the smell of freshly baked blueberry muffins.

We both sit on the couch and look each other directly into each others eyes. “So how do I get started?”, I asked. “Well, first I’ll have to borrow you”, she mutters. Borrow me? If you borrow me will you ever give myself back to me? I started to flinch. “What do you mean?” I said. “Well I am going to have to take you on a little trip”, she said as she stood up and placed her angelic hands on her hips. She posed as if he were a model on the front page magazine. I fixated myself in her essence. She poured out elegance and confidence. She was an eagle flying among us. She had broken wings but she knew how to fly. That was important. “What type of trip?”, I asked. Was it a trip to the moon so we could gaze upon the starts and see how bright they shine for Ms.Hemingway? Ms. Hemingway sat right next to me and placed her hands on mine. “I am taking you to a city that operates like a country”, she says with a giggle. Does that mean they have their own language? “So where are we going?”, I asked. She looked up then darted her eyes at me. Then she blinks twice and says, “The Devil’s Playground”.

I didn’t understand her dark vocabulary. I didn’t want to go anywhere but to Safe Haven. I quickly fumble with my choice of words and say “Let me go home so I can start packing”. I whipped my head around and walked quickly for the door. There was a rumble underneath my feet. “There is no need, I have a suitcase for you right here”. My heart stopped. Set up#2. As I could feel her power in the way she looked at me, demanding me to do as I was told. I made mental note of her behavior. I knew she was up to no good. I knew this would hurt me. However I could not resist the halo around her devil ears. Her angelic voice was louder than her devious tone of voice. As I thought of all the ways Ms. Hemingway was a devil, I quickly reached for the suitcase and followed her ever instruction like an angel.

Packed tightly into her Cadillac with luggage, the smell of cigarettes, and Chanel No.1 sat Bonnie and Clyde. We were both on a mission, but realized we were not hurting anyone but us. We were killers, but only killing ourselves. Ms. Hemingway made a devil look like angel. She could take a sin, wrap it up and put a bow on it and make it look like one of the Ten Commandments. It scared me how good she was. It was as if she went to school and majored in Devilish Acts. She had to of had a degree in Manipulation because she could take any situation and flip it like a sunny side up egg on a warm Sunday morning. It was excellent, brilliant, and delicious. I envied her. Not the evil in her, but the confidence. She made wrong look right. She make dark nights burn like sunlight. She was brilliant and elegant and even though I knew she was evil and mysterious, all her negative behavior drew me closer to her. It made me want to be like her. She was perfect. The curled hair, perfect makeup, stylish clothes, confidence, assurance.
It was so beautiful I could barely see her ugly soul. She was lit up like a lighthouse at the North Carolina beach. She was a swan and I was just a pigeon.

“So teach me”, I said. I glanced over at her. She had one hand on the wheel and the other on a cigarette. She kept her eyes on the road and only responded to my questions when she felt they were worthy enough. “You’re going to have to learn that bad things will happen and you’re going to have to put it all behind you”, she said. The wind blew her dark curls on her face. She could not have been more majestic. My strawberry blonde hair blew around my face intil I gently pulled it back into a ponytail. “And you’re going to have to let go of people you want to keep in your life, you’re going to have to choose your happiness and safety over others”. I listened. Every word I embedded in my head. “She kept her eyes on the road, not once glancing at me or how I was taking in the information. She didn’t care if it was going in one ear and out the other. She ran her beautiful mouth intil she ran out of words. “I see, so what else should I know”, I asked. A part of me really wanted answers and a part of me just wanted to her a response and debate whether or not I agreed.
“Well, you need to know that life is about 3 things and three things only”. Her face became serious and I became scared. “Confidence, happiness, and forgiveness”. I repeated the words slowly. Is this really all life is about? “Now confidence is not having to get assurance from anyone but you”. I agreed quietly in my head. “And happiness is something inside of you. It’s a choice you make. It is not tried to a person, place, or thing. It is a flower inside of you blooming with every breath you take”. I was in awe. Everything she said sounded like poetry. Not in the
way she said it but the way she meant it. She was firm. She was what I wanted to be. She was like America and she was my National Anthem. “Wow that was beautiful.” I said.


I fixated my eyes on the road to see a sign that said “LOS ANGELES 45 MILES”. “What’s Los Angeles?”, I asked. She laughed and looked straight ahead at the road. “It’s a place where devils and angels come alive in the night and magical things happen”. I didn’t know what to believe. I thought Devils were in Hell and Angels were in Heaven. What were they doing on earth? And even if they were on earth, why would they be together when they are opposite. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t believe her. She was like a religion. I studied her and I took notes but I still was not persuaded to follow that god. Underneath the makeup, poetic verses, and confidence she was just a 30 something year old woman with great taste in fashion. She wasn’t an angel at all. She was nothing more than the morning newspaper at an empty house. I slowly closed my eyes and drifted into a sleep filled with angels and devils. Was it true? I had no answers and I didn’t know whether to believe Ms. Hemingway or to ignore everything she said. I allowed myself to completely let go. Whatever I needed would drift back to me. Till then, I would allow myself to be empty.

I awoke to the forceful push by Ms. Hemingway’s strong but delicate hands on my shoulder. “Get up get up!”, she exclaimed. “We’re here”. I started to open my tired eyes. The bright city lights blinded me and the cold breeze made my teeth chatter. I was in a beautiful atmosphere. The bright lights carried beauty and elegance. The light danced around the tall buildings that
were far away but ever so close. “I am so tired, where are we staying?”, I asked. I wiped my eyes and stared at the city lights. Everything was so alive but so subtle. We were near this really big “HOLLYWOOD” sign. It was in huge write letters on top of a massive hill. It was so beautiful; I didn’t know Hollywood was this magical.

“Underneath the stars”, she whispers. I was so much in awe I almost forgot what I asked her. She then went to the Cadillac and opened the trunk. She carried two sleeping bags in her precious hands. She laid them out on the cold, hard ground. I quickly curled up into mine. It was freezing. “Why couldn’t we just sleep in the car?”, I muttered. “Because this is all part of your journey”, she said. We both gazed up at the stars, fixated on the bright diamonds glued to the dark navy background. At that very moment I had a miracle happen. I think I started to understand everything. I was no longer the odd one out. I knew deep down I was just as beautiful as Ms. Hemingway. As I closed my eyes I started counting miracles.


I woke up on the Hollywood Hills in a sleeping bag and loud birds. The sun made me squint my eyes as if my eyes ate lemons. I glanced around and I was alone. I panicked. Did Ms. Hemingway really abandon me? HONK HONK! I whip my head around to the sound of seagulls. There she was, Ms. Hemingway She was sitting in her car putting on bright red lipstick. She was wearing a floral dress and red high heels. She was also wearing Chanel No.1. I quickly jumped up, grabbed my sleeping bag and ran for the car. Ms. Hemingway had a wicked way of waking young vulnerable girls up.


Driving shotgun in a magical town like Los Angeles is electric. The wind blowing threw my strawberry blonde curls, the tall buildings and the luxurious houses. Los Angeles was a kingdom. I glanced over at Ms. Hemingway to see her sunglasses covering her mysterious eyes. Her brunette curls were pin curled to her head with a white scarf around it. She was effortlessly put together. I was purposely a mess.
“Where are we going?”, I asked. She kept her eyes on the road and her mind in the stars. “Home”, she replied. However “home” was her home, not mine. She drove for about fifteen minutes and pulled into an elegant driveway of a celebrity-like house. We both slowly got out the car. I fixated my eyes on the large glass stained windows, and the wooden door. Once again, I was in Heaven. She led me into the devils cave and as I followed everything in the house twinkled with delight.

“Please, make yourself at home”, Ms. Hemingway said. I plopped myself into the couch and closed my eyes. What was going to happen next? As soon as I made myself comfortable I heard Ms. Hemingway’s heels on tile floor. She approaches me with paper and a sharpened pencil. “I have more things to teach you, she said. She dug her devilish dark eyes into my soul. I quickly peeled myself of the couch, and prepared myself for insanity and wisdom. Ms. Hemingway led me into the back of her house. I was scared. I smiled.



Beautiful Mediterranean colored water was what I drowned my eyes in. A pool, a pool was where my lesson was going to be. I studied the small waves in the water created by the sharp breeze of Los Angeles. Ms. Hemingway handed me a light blue tie dye tank top and red shorts. “Here, change into these”, she demanded. I became nervous. “You want me to change in front of you?, I babbled. “How else are you going to become confident with who you are?”, she questioned. I slowly took of my dirty clothes and replaced them with the tie dye shirt and red shorts. I felt good, but I knew I looked better on the outside than what I felt on the inside.

Ms. Hemingway grabbed two terracotta colored bricks and rubbed then together and smacking them together to create a loud sparking noise. I jumped every time. “Quickly! On the board!”, she demanded. I ran around the pool and got onto the diving board. I stared at my reflection. I was no longer a cold, broken girl. I had a half smile and healed bruises all over my body to prove it. I was growing and shaping into something more beautiful than I have ever known. I stared at the beautiful water, it was so calm and peaceful. It was everything I wanted to be.

Ms. Hemingway did a little dance and rubbed the bricks together. “When I say dive, you dive!”, she demanded. I was nervous I started rocked back and forth. “I don’t know how to swim!”, I yelled. “That’s why I am teaching you”, she responded immediately. As nervous and as scared as I was I decided to follow the rules. I positioned my body the way I saw drivers do on

the tv. I held by breath and prepared for- “SMACK!” goes the two bricks. I dived. I went deep as 8 feet.

Standing at only 5’1 feet tall, I was in deep trouble. I tried holding my breath but I was weak and broken. My lungs filled with water. My eyes grew wide. I was drowning. I could see Ms. Hemingway. She was laughing hysterically. I started to panic. I swung my arms back and forth begging for mercy, begging for God and his angels to save my life. Ms. Hemingway put back on her sunglasses. “This is your last lesson”, I heard. And she walked into her house. I couldn’t believe it. She was the devil with a halo. This whole time I was praying with the devil. As I had my last thought I closed my eyes and positioned myself on my pack so I can let god take me to heaven, or to hell: his choice. My lungs closed up and I lay motionless on the eight feet deep Pool floor.

I saw a bring light, and I heard angels singing my name. “Addie! Addie!”. They were calling me. I flew to the pearly white gates. There stood a woman with a white hood on. She held a big book filled with names of the good. “Hi I’m Addie and I’m here to get into heaven to spend eternity with the lord”, I said. The woman checked the book, flipping though pages. I was fixated on the white clouds I was walking on. “Sorry, your name does not appear anywhere in the Holy Book, perhaps I can send you elsewhere”, she said. My heart stopped and my body froze. I

glanced up and there she was. As devious and angelic as she was it was Ms.Hemingway. I was stuck. “I shall have my people escort you”. She snapped her fingers and took me into another world. The clouds turned into smoke, the angels turned to devils, and the pearly white gates turned into a black dark cave. The devils took my hand and let me to a dark empty cave filled with laughing demons. I prayed to god for him to forgive me, but he wouldn’t listen. I was now with the devils. This way the price I paid for praying with the devil. As I lay motionless in the dark cellar I waited patiently for the devils to feast on my empty soul.