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When An Angel Cries

New York, 2000 

Wraith perched outside her window, sitting on the edge and looking up at the night sky. Tears streaked down her face as if an angel was painting on a canvas. It was after midnight and she could hear the heartbeat of the city; it meant a lot to her, knowing that the city was alive. 

The wind caressed her like an old lover as her midnight hair danced along the cool summer breeze. She brought a tissue up to dry her grey eyes. She had never seen a soul that was more messed up than Max. She was crying because she had peered into a void of content and had seen the pain that he had gone through, and the pain that was yet to come.

There was a ring. An old fashioned ring. The kind of ringing you hear when watching an old detective movie. 

A rotary phone sat on the ledge beside her; she didn't like cellphones. She felt that it took something away from the character; a portable monster that attached itself to your face and sucked the time away. 

Who really needs them, she thought as she picked up the receiver. Life is too short to be constantly chatting on a phone. 

"Hello," she said. "Yes," she replied. "Okay."

She sat there several more seconds then hung up the phone.

She could hear music from the apartment below her. The young lads below liked to listen to some of the classic alternative music from the 70's; bands like Nectar, King Crimson and Klaatu. Wraith commended them on their taste of music. Which certainly fit the mood she was in.