So Yeah Its Ricky...

My name is Ricky.

Have you heard of me? No? Well that's too bad!
Things have changed quite a bit for me in this world.
I'm twenty six years old, I am six feet and one inch tall with somewhat long-ish raven black hair. My eyes are a dark blue with speckles of deep, midnight indigo and black. I have a rather fair complexion but I don't usually burn. Back when we allowed to love whomever we wanted, my girl Phoebe would always gaze deep into those eyes. Truly a special feeling, but you could only understand if you had met her.
Moving on. Nowadays I've decided to keep up my old job and become what they call an Angel. I can't help but think of womanly men with harps, flying high above us all with their shining white wings. I know what they look like, I've seen one, except I'm fairly certain it was actually a girl. I digress once more. As an Angel, I fight to keep peace in this country - what was once the U.S - Gilead. Its an alright job, most of the more useless jobs are pawned off on the guardians who wear their stupid berets and think they own the streets. They're still scared of us though.
I don't have a lot of free time during my work, but when I get it I like to draw. Yeah, its kind of weird considering who I am and what I do, but if I don't take some time to put some graphite down on paper then I fear all my memories of Phoebe and Arc would just float away. Drawing is more dangerous than writing, but I can't say I'm a skilled writer. That was always more of Phoebe's activity, who wrote letters that skillfully made the written words into a representation of her cute quirks like cocking her head and winking an eye. Such things never happen anymore and her letter, still sealed inside my inner-most pocket, is still the sole reminder that she and I once existed together.
So you won't be surprised if I tell you I still dream of her face?
Her and Arc.
They were brother and sister but did not look very alike except the slightly babyish face that suggested they would not take anything entirely seriously. She had the dark mahogany hair that was naturally highlighted in honey by the sun. Arc on the other hand had the blondest hair of anyone I had ever seen. She also had darker eyes like I did, but Arc's eyes were big and blue like the clear day's sky. Sometimes when I dream, I see his face as he was when he visited me in the hospital, a cloudy darkness and so unlike him it its seriousness. Or my Phoebe when she squinted her eyes when she was annoyed, or nestled her head in my arms and say how strong I was. I know she was just boosting my male ego and I also knew she loved it.
My greatest fear and most utter nightmare is the deep mire of death to which I have come so close once before. The instability still rests inside me, a seed, an egg, that one day promises to fester and grow until I can hide my unorthodoxy no longer. Surely only Phoebe can permanently suppress it.
Now I'm not so sure.

... To be continued.