City Of Anger Novels & Stories

"I wasn't going to call you with just the article and no plan." I lean my forehead against the window glass. Cool and solid. Mexico City seven floors below. "Marco." "I'm not angry," he says. "I want to be clear about that. I'm not angry at you or at him." A pause that costs him something. "I'm angry at whoever is doing this." "I know."

Too light to be visible, yet somehow too heavy to ignore. And then I just stood there where Gerard was standing minutes ago. I stared down at the city, and it blurred. I couldn’t tell if it was the sun or if it was my vision. ******** Even after Gerard had left, the anger didn’t fade. My pulse was still high, and the heat clung to me like a second skin. The day blurred by with me barking orders, snapping at anyone and everyone. And by evening, the heat had turned into something feral.

“I’ll start tonight, sir. I’ll have a shadow on Nestore by dawn and a ledger on that messenger in a day.” “Good.” I watched him go. Men like Martell are the gears of my life; they move when given the right weight to bear. I have damaged more than I care to count by giving orders from anger. Tonight I wanted things done with the coolness of someone who keeps his hands clean on purpose. Left alone, I turned back to the window that faced the hospital and saw the pale square of light where my daughter slept. I let the anger wash through me and then set it down. Anger is a furnace—useful for shaping, dangerous for burning the thing you mean to keep.

city of Florence was too beautiful. Too golden. Too poetic for the kind of life he wants to live. And poetry? It can’t save you from the mafia. Angel chewed his lips. He wants to go back to America. Period. Angel’s legs moved fast. His head was down but vigilant. Hands tucked into the long sleeves of his white stretchable shirt. His boots tapped against the cobblestone with urgency. His long necklace swayed slightly with every step. Eyes darting. ‘Where are they?’

ADRIEN A City on Fire The tension in the city was thick enough to cut with a knife. I could feel it in the air every time I stepped outside. The streets that had once buzzed with life were now filled with an ominous silence, interrupted only by the distant sounds of sirens and gunfire. Each day brought new reports of gang wars escalating, innocent lives caught in the crossfire. My heart sank further with each headline I read or news bulletin I heard. This was no longer a city; it had become a battleground.

Nonetheless, he is triggered by Denver’s attack. “Then if I don’t love you, I already slit your throat back then!” “Then you should—“ His anger comes to its point as Angelito slaps Denver so hard on the face it turns reddish. The chimaeras he doesn’t want to do to him was unavoidable in the surge of his anger. Despite giving up and apologizes for what he had done to Angelito. Denver doesn’t give a damn and throws a heavy punch to his chest. Meanwhile, Angelito cannot tolerate his naughtiness. He tries his best to feed him a lesson that he doesn’t want to experience.

He went to the center of the hell city with the bodyguard. And in the city center. The situation is very broken. Smoke rises high. City buildings were destroyed. He was surprised and opened his eyes wide. Not only that, so many angels are fighting against the royal guards. "What is this? Why is it falling apart?" The prime minister said seeing the entire contents of the city which was similar to a broken ship. "So they did it?" Once again while looking at tens of thousands of angels who have surrounded the city of hell. "I can't let them act like this here! This is hell, they can't act as they want," said the Prime Minister starting to clench his fists. He rose from his seat, got out of the

We got into the taxi and the door shut with a soft thud that seemed to echo inside my chest. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, waiting for the address, and I gave it in a voice that felt tighter than I meant it to. I leaned back, arms crossed, watching the city blur past the windows. But the blur didn’t quiet the fire twisting in my stomach. Anger had a grip on me. Who does he think he is? The scene replayed in my mind in jagged pieces, each one making my jaw clench harder.

“Now, we watch. And we learn. You have forced the system to reveal its true nature. It is not a benevolent guardian. It is a tyrant. And the people are now, for the first time, feeling the weight of the boot after tasting something else. That is a powerful combination.” He was right. Over the next two days, the signal from the city evolved again. The orange flashes of anger began to change. They became less random, less frantic. They became more… focused. The target of the anger was shifting. It was no longer just a general, trapped frustration. The gold flickers of awe and the purple waves of fear were acting as a catalyst. The people were starting to understand what they were angry at. The

The night didn’t feel any different from the others, but something inside me wouldn’t settle. I wasn’t angry anymore. The anger had burned through hours ago, leaving something duller, heavier. The kind of tired that comes after too many decisions, too many days spent trying to hold my ground while everything else keeps shifting beneath me. I could still hear the faint hum of the city in the distance, not loud, just enough to remind me that life outside kept moving, that the world didn’t care what happened inside these walls.