Wounded Angel Painting Novels & Stories

It lets out a screech, so loud, that the humans scream, running away from it. This is the one chance we have; I point at the target, and my comrades understand, charging at it with everything and everyone they have. The angel is wounded though, and flapping on five wings instead of six, as it tries to make itself look scary. But it's the fact that I got it, and it's screaming in pain that gives the others confidence to take it down. They move forward, screeches, and angry cries filling up the sky. I fly upwards, Loss sticking close. It's strange that we are not fighting each other, and instead helping one another.

I let myself breathe, just breathe, until I almost felt like myself again. But suddenly, memories of Leo’s betrayal came flooding back, like a bandage torn from an old wound. I dressed unpationately and grabbed my brushes and canvas, pouring all my pain, sadness, and anger into the painting. Dark strokes formed a forest, and in the center, I painted a white wolf howling at the moon. Somehow, I imagined it was my wolf, even though I had none.

Angel said and held my hand but I withdrew it instantly, wincing in pain. "What's wrong?" He asked, his voice laced with concern. I tried to withdraw my bruised fingers which was as a result of mishandling the crotchet hook but Angel held my arm in place stopping me from withdrawing it. He looked pissed but it didn't look like he was pissed at me but the fact that I was injured. "How did you get these?" He asked with a serious tone. I withdrew my hands from him hiding it behind my back. "It's just practise." I answered hoping he'd die the matter.

[Victor’s POV] After finishing my second bottle of whiskey, I was drunk. The pain from my severed fingers on my left hand seemed numbed by the alcohol, but the pain in my heart only grew. With a creak, the door was pushed open. I suddenly sat upright. I struggled to my feet and reached out carefully, as if touching a fragile illusion that might shatter at any moment. My voice came out in broken fragments. “Rachel… you’re back…” “Darling, what’s wrong with you?”

But come on, life’s too short not to embrace it. Finally, I hit the park. Oh man, it was everything. Green lawns stretching out, joggers pounding the paths, kids chasing pigeons. I found a quiet bench under a massive oak tree, the kind that looks like it’s been there since forever. The sun filtered through the leaves, casting these dappled shadows that begged to be sketched. I flipped open my book, sharpened a pencil, and started drawing—the Bethesda Fountain in the distance, with its angel statue looking all majestic. My lines flowed easy, loose, capturing the curve of the water, the people milling around. Art’s my escape, you know? Back in Paris, growing up in our cramped apartment with Mo

A whole one week of fresh maltreatment on her. She prayed for strength as she tried to push away the picture of a dark handsome face smiling seductively at her.

As Axel was resolved to having what he wanted. A family with the only person he loved all his life. And to his next if so God forbids. *** Urie was admiring all of the paintings at the gallery that Axxel's company owns. When he came across a very odd piece. It was the biggest of all the paintings hanged in there. An image of an angel and a demon. Who seemed to be stretching their hands towards each other. The angel had a very beautiful and gleaming aura. Its wings spread upwards. Like it just descended from heaven.

"What could that be? Amelia asked shivering. "The question is who could that be " Eric replied quiet unmoved by the gun shots. "It could be Derek, Samantos, Anna or anybody ". He took the fork and knife. He held the full chicken on one of the trays with the fork and cut it with the knife. He picked it with the knife into his mouth savoring every taste. "God please forgive me, holy Mart take control. Angel Micheal, son of God. I mean Angel Gabriel, the son of God, oh my fucking God, someone should just take control ". She was breathing heavily as she said the prayers.

Leonardo's voice sounded like a hummingbird to Angela. "It's lovely," Angela replied, as if she were in a trance with Leonardo. "What's lovely?" Leonardo inquired. Angela replied softly, "The painting." "Can you describe it for me?" "The painting represents life. Different shades of life in various directions. " Angela began to enjoy the music as they continued to play it in their imaginations. She was sucked into the world of fantasy by the man she initially despised. Everything in her life collided with Leonardo's unhappy life.

Laura said apologetically and Steven smiled back, “Morning.” He then beckoned his finger to her and Laura walked towards him, pulling her into his lap, he continued painting. Laura looked at the painting and her eyes grew wider in astonishment. It was a painting of a woman, who was sitting in a graveyard in front of a grave, the woman’s side face was shown and her body was also drawn from the side, the woman’s hand was on the grave and there was a white angel over her head, protecting and blessing her. Laura’s eyes filled with tears as she gasped in a low voice pointing at that angel, “MOM”