Post by Amelia Raven Blake on May 14, 2013 19:11:28 GMT -5
i a m b u l l e t p r o o f
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n o t h i n g t o l o s e. f i r e a w a y. f i r e a w a y.
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n o t h i n g t o l o s e. f i r e a w a y. f i r e a w a y.
The sun was setting slowly, casting an array of beauty across the sky in a blurred palate of reds and oranges and golds. This was a bit of a daily ritual for the officer of the NYPD when she was given the day off - which wasn't often. But it was good to get a breath of fresh air when she wasn't chasing a criminal all around New York City, even if it was a quick chase it was never fun. No matter how much she disliked her job though, Amelia would never quit. It made her feel well ... whole when she succeeded in doing her job. In the end, she was just glad to be the one fighting crime and not the one causing it.
As she walked, the blond absently played with the rings around her necklace, the only things she had left to remind her of her parents. The memory of that day never ceased to haunt her. You couldn't real blame her, considering she'd been only eight at the time of her parents' untimely murder, something like that stuck with you. She supposed it was one of the main reasons she'd gone into her profession; that and Henry Bishop, the man who had gone out of his way to be a fatherly figure to the lost little girl Amelia Blake had once been.
That was all behind her now, and she tried to keep it from her mind as she strolled through Central Park, feeling the wind's gentle fingers playing through her hair, and a small smile flickered to light on her face. She stopped by the edge of the park, leaning her shoulder against the rough bark of an oak tree, smiling as she looked out across the park. She had a feeling that this evening was probably going to be a good one. It all depended on the future.
As she walked, the blond absently played with the rings around her necklace, the only things she had left to remind her of her parents. The memory of that day never ceased to haunt her. You couldn't real blame her, considering she'd been only eight at the time of her parents' untimely murder, something like that stuck with you. She supposed it was one of the main reasons she'd gone into her profession; that and Henry Bishop, the man who had gone out of his way to be a fatherly figure to the lost little girl Amelia Blake had once been.
That was all behind her now, and she tried to keep it from her mind as she strolled through Central Park, feeling the wind's gentle fingers playing through her hair, and a small smile flickered to light on her face. She stopped by the edge of the park, leaning her shoulder against the rough bark of an oak tree, smiling as she looked out across the park. She had a feeling that this evening was probably going to be a good one. It all depended on the future.
