Everyone has an angel. A guardian that watches over us. We can't know what form they'll take: One day all men, next day a simple boy. But don't let appearances fool you, they can be as fierce as any Dragon. Yet, they're not here to fight our battles, but to whisper from our hearts. Reminding that it's us, every one of us, who holds the power to control the worlds we create.
The thunder rumbles continually. Lightning flashes behind the heavy curtained windows. Pink curtains. A slit frames his body. The musty room gives just enough light to see it shaking. A door creaks open and lets more of the golden light in. an old man, black hair and black mustache. His hands clamp onto his suitcase and bowler hat. The boy looks up, face streaked with wet tears, his blonde, almost platinum, hair in a mess. The hopeful brown eyes focus on the old man. His eyes hide behind his spectacles as he slowly shakes his head. A moan escapes the boy's lips. He forces himself painfully from the bed, running like a hurt animal from the room, sweaty feet slipping on the wooden floor. His pale night clothes are almost too baggy for him. In the hallway he turns, still running, still slipping, gasping. His eyes shine with powerless remorse. There's a woman pulling a white cloth over a bed. There's something on that bed. The boy loses all energy at the sight of the covered bed, slumping against the door's frame. Thunder echoes again and again. Rain spatters on the bedroom window. "NO." a sobbing girl enters, a blue nightgown draped on her thin body. "NO, No, no, no….." her words fade away, to be replaced by sobs. He has to hold her back, grabbing on to her shoulders. She sags to her knees, pulling him behind, but she's latched onto the cover. His knees hit the ground as the cover slides from the bed. Lightning flashes on the pale face of a woman. Her dark hair contrasts strongly with the paleness of her skin and the white of the covers. The girl is sobbing, shaking, screaming and crying. He holds her firmly and close to him. A noise in the hallway behind him, barely audible over the storm, the scuffing of a foot on the wooden floor, makes him turn his head away from the serene death in the chaos his life has become. There's a big man. A fat man. Straightening his tie. Smiling knowingly.
A sea of black umbrellas, protecting nameless, faceless people from torrents of rain. Three people are isolated in the island of land surrounded by the black. They stand around the gaping hole in the earth. A white statue of a cloaked figure rises above the sea, holding its hand toward the hole. The girl drops a rose into the hole. The boy stands closer, holding her up, so that she doesn't fall in after. Crying faces and white handkerchiefs. His tear stained face breaks away from the hole, looks over it to the man on the other side. He looks disappointed. He picks up the shovel and forcefully starts shoveling dirt into the grave.
Lightning flashes over an envelope. Macintosh, Weinsapp & Spye, Attorneys at Law, Brattleboro, Vermont: Last Will & Testament. Someone lifts a letter-opener from were it's lying on a pistol in an opened drawer. A slight hesitation. But with a flick the golden seal is broken. He looks at the document inside. It's him. That fat man. His eyes search greedily. And to my two beautiful children I leave all my worldly possessions. The thunder claps and lightning flashes. He cannot believe it. After all he's gone through for this! He throws everything from the desk. Paperwork flurries everywhere. He lifts a bottle to his wide lips. The liquor flows clear and burning down his throat. The boy is in his sister's room, watching her sleep, protecting her from the horrors of the night. A goodnight kiss. The man throws the liquor into the fire. A loud explosion of flames and bursting glass reach the boy's ears. He leaves his sister's room, closing the door silently behind him, to investigate. He turns around to find the fat man blocking the hallway. He takes a threatening step towards the boy, anger clear on his drunken features. The boy runs to his bedroom and tries to slam the door. He is too late. The man is in the door holding it open. He reaches out, grabbing the boy's shirt and pulling. A button hops off, bouncing on the floor. Inspired by anger and fear, the boy lashes out with his hand, laving three red lines on the man's face. He's angrier. He shoves his whole body against the door, shoving the boy to the middle of the room. He stumbles into the room. The button is still rolling down the hallway. The man freezes. His features peak up as he looks menacingly over his shoulder. Another lightning bolt eerily lights up his smile. The boy realises the intentions of the man, but his responses aren't fast enough. He only barely reaches the door as it's locked in front of him.
All he can do is look through the keyhole as the man opens his sister's bedroom-door. He looks meaningfully at the eye in the keyhole. But the girl runs past him, grabbing his keys. His attention is snapped back to the girl now running away from him. The boy moves toward his room's window. The girl has locked herself in the closet. The keys are shaking in the door as the man tries to break it open. The light bulb is swinging from side to side on its chord. Dust falls down from the ceiling. The boy is out of his window, reaching for the gutter. Slowly, precariously he makes his way down. The man manages to kick the door open. The girl is transfixed by fear. The boy hits the ground hard, crouching for a moment to catch his breath. Gasping he gets up and runs. The man is still staring at his prey cornered in the closet. His attention is diverted by another presence in the room. Lightning flashes on the face of the rain-soaked boy. The man's face changes. The boy slowly lifts the pistol. His hands are shaking. The man's initial fear changes to a mocking smile. The boy shakes even worse. His face scrunches up as he pulls the trigger. The light bulb explodes. A steam pipe whistles as the pressure inside is relieved by a sudden puncture in the pipe. The man falls to his knees, but the boy is running past him into the closet. The girl is lying peacefully on her side. He crouches by her side, gun still clamped in his hands. He slowly picks up her head, but something makes him pull back his hand, it's covered by red, sticky blood. An animalistic howl of pain escapes his shaking body as he realises that the bullet from the gun has killed his sister. He cradles her head, crying into the black hair, so like his mother's. Resolutely he runs from the closet, holding the gun in both hands, ensuring it's steady this time. He trains it on the cowering fat man on the floor, trying to phone someone. The man drops the phone and holds his hands in protection before his face, begging for mercy. The gun drops to the floor. The man slowly looks up, to see the receding figure of the boy.
Flashlights search around the shadowy ground. Blue and red lights cast eerie shadows all around the grass. A man in a uniform lifts his cap to get a better view of the sight before him. Caught in the beam of his flashlight is a curled up bundle lying in the still red ground of a recent grave. At the head of the grave, right under a marble tombstone is a wreath of yellow flowers. The bundle shifts as more lights are shed on it. A head appears. The boy looks at the officers without really looking at them. The dark circles under his eyes are extremely prominent. The fat man is talking to an officer, pointing in his direction. The man nods. A few of the larger men carefully lift him up and carry him to a car. Someone suddenly jabs an injection in his arm. He should feel angry, but he feels nothing. He is numb…