by Hydrargentium

Looking out the window, Dark Angel watched a cluster of starlings peck at the rain-soaked lawn across the street. Earlier, the day had been heavy with rain, but now the sun was drying off the streets and setting the puddles to glistening. The shimmer of the starlings’ dark feathers seemed to mimic and play off of the reflecting sunlight.

Startled by a passing car, the small flock took to the air, moving with a kind of synchronized chaos into the closest tree. Moments later, they launched, as one, into the air, and quickly disappeared into the bright sky.

Dark Angel looked back at his computer screen, and sighed. Rolling his shoulders, the feathers on his wings made soft shuffling sounds, silk on silk. The last place he felt like being was sitting at a desk, poring over the financial details of the local Family. Russians, these ones were, and meticulous in their bookkeeping. Instead, he wanted to join the starlings, to lose himself in the brightness of the day.

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