He fell. His wings were useless and he knew it. The air was whipping through his feathers and his hair. Sure, it felt like flying, but this was different. Underneath the sheer joy of the motion was the terror. The terror of the gound and the terror of death.

There weren’t any of the usual cliches. No flashes of his life before his eyes. No light at the end of the tunnel. Just the sky.

The angel spread his arms wide, letting the moisture from the clouds freeze his fingers.

A single tendril of thought passed through him. I’m too late.
Then there was nothing.