In The Arms Of An Angel
Chapter 7
Mark was walking on the park he usually goes to everytime he's in Sligo.
Nothing has changed, he thought. Everything is just as beautiful. A smile
escaped his red luscious lips as his hand searched for his whistle tin.
Putting it between his lips, he started to whistle and play the melody
that's been bugging his head for a couple of days now.
Ronan and Louis gave the Westlife lads two months off. The lads went
lunatic when they found out that they have a vacation that long. But they
knew they deserve a break that long. After the eight-week break they would
be back in studios, recording for their sophomore album to be released in
November.
I wish I planned something, Mark thought to himself. Maybe a trip to the
South of France or Tenerife. I can't believe I didn't plan anything. "Well,
at least I'm home. I can eat all the Irish stew I want. I can slob all over
the house and play tennis and hang out with Rowen and my mates." He needed
to say it aloud to stop the nagging voice playing over and over in his head.
He stopped. This was his mates and his spot. From this angle he could see
the exquisite lake, the high, green mountains and the tall trees. He sighed.
This is what I miss. This is heaven. He bent down and picked several grasses
and started nibbling and tearing it as he stood there in silent motion.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a rampant motion, a struggling
movement of some sort. He trotted to the direction not far from where he was
and saw a girl whipping her arms, sweat dripping from her forehead.
Mark reached over her shoulders and then he heard a loud scream.