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Edge of Thorns 2 - Pt 21Part 21
Gabriel. I should call Gabriel...
He pressed his nail hard into his skin, focusing on the pain in his arm instead of the pain in his heart. His feet seemed to move of their own accord as he plodded back into the kitchen. Nathan stopped at the sink and stared at the knife, then at the unfinished sandwich on the counter, then at the knife again. He closed his eyes and turned around, sliding down to the floor. He finally released his arm. Shakily, he traced the name out with his finger on the tile...
A numbing, painful cold surrounded his wound as he opened his eyes and looked up. Gabriel held his wrist, but stared at him, the red glow from his eyes illuminating the gentle sadness on his face. Nathan looked away, and the angel sighed. "What happened?"
"Nothing," the writer answered reflexively, then frowned and shook his head. "Bad memories." He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked towards Gabriel again just as he sat down beside him.
"Tell me," the angel commanded
Edge of Thorns 2 - Pt 19Part 19
It's inevitable that this will keep coming up, no matter how many times I try to avoid it. Better to try again. Maybe one of the angels will back me up this time...
He braced himself. "No," Nathan said, looking down at the floor to avoid her gaze. "You... you look like my fiancée." He waited for the slap, like the one he'd received on Halloween. When nothing happened, he dared a glance up.
Enya was still staring at him, her eyes narrowed and lips pressed firm, but she said nothing at first. After another minute -- just before Nathan was about to say never mind and to forget he mentioned it -- she propped her hands on her hips and shook her head. "Okay, once is a bad pick up line. Twice, and you have some weird psychological complex. Explain."
Nathan grimaced, but at least he hadn't gotten slapped. Yet. "I'm... not sure how..."
"Oh goodness!" They both turned to look at Alton when he laughed. The devil had made himself quite comfortable with his legs stretched
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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