New Writing:

The angel sat at the kitchen table, his fiery wings roaring as they licked and blackened the creamy white ceiling. His twisted, broken fingers sat quietly on the table top. He smiled - with no warmth - at the boy sitting opposite him, as angel wings continued to roar and spit red hot fire across the room. The boy sat, his long thin fingers also sitting quietly on the table top. The boy blinked, he had murder in his eye.