This week’s story fits squarely between His Last Ride and The Next Assignment. I didn’t exactly incorporate the photo, but went more figuratively. For reasons you will probably understand after reading the story, the plane and the sun together made me think of Claire… strong, warm, powerful, and good.
On Angel Wings (113)
In the instant her hand had touched his chest, she had known it would be different.
Now, high above the cordoned bus station, Angelique fought with every beat of her snow-white wings to free herself from him. All his fear, guilt, shame, and hatred mingled with Angelique’s own sorrow over what might have been. She writhed against the pain within and without as the frigid wind swirled around her tiny form.
Claire’s smooth, pure voice rose above the thunder in Angelique’s ears.
“Be still, child.”
A golden wing, strong and warm as the midday sun, enveloped Angelique. She collapsed, her head against Claire’s chest.
“Steve,” Angelique whispered. “The fat man’s name was Steve.”
For the rest of the story click on Angelique.
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