Azrael

He was just standing there, by the graffiti stained walls of a ghetto parking lot. It did not suit him at all, what with his blanca skin and raven lashes. This man was like a Roman god painting, dreadfully cut and paste unto a poor man's parking lot.

She was six and thought him to be a man of twenty two, just like her eldest cheerleader sister. Teddy bear still in hand and mother still busy searching for her car keys, she stood there, gaze steady, in awe of the young man's beauty.

It came as quite a shock to him when he noticed her eyes sparking, bright and full of life, looking at him. He let out a deep sigh and curled his pointer finger to signal her to come close, and she obeyed.

As she was walking closer, she noticed two more things: first, that this man had radiating white wings and second, diamond-like tears were falling from his eyes. When she asked him why he was crying, he answered, "I'm the person you go to if He finds it is time to bring you home, not just the person who plays pick-up boy, I'm supposed to be there beforehand."

Seconds later a heart wrenching scream was heard, and the little girl's mother was sprawling on the floor. She was bawling her eyes out, picking up her lifeless daughter's body from the floor, blood-drenched. Little girl had become another victim of the neighborhood gang war, shot by gunman with silencer in a moving, heavily tinted vehicle.