Literature
Ballad Of The Fallen Angel
The rain drumming against the metal roof woke Jack up from his not-so-deep sleep. Outside, the storm began to pick up and the sky turned a deep purple.
15 minutes later, he stood in the bathroom and stared into the cracked mirror. The walls had long ago soaked up every smell known to man, giving Jack the sense that this room had seen more of life then the oldest or wisest alive.
His charcoal hair was clumpy, so he twisted the nozzle on the sink and put the plug down. With a sigh that seemed to last forever, he dipped his head underneath the steaming water, not noticing that his skin was quickly turning beet red.
A black van pulled up