Tuesday, December 18, 2012


Back against concrete, Marcel looked over the lights of Toronto. He’d risked much for this view and the people below. Walking past, most did not see him, an apt punishment for hubris. He’d never railed against being doomed to walk the Earth. It was, after all, the mission he’d accepted before his fall.

“They wait for a fat man in a sleigh to bring them love.” The familiar voice dripped with disdain.

“They’re born with love, brother. It’s why you hate them.”

“One of many reasons.”

Marcel looked again on his city, before entering a fight he could not win.

Yet more background from my current WIP. Angels keep popping up everywhere. It's disconcerting, as I'm not overly fond of them and trust them not at all - nor should you.


  1. I'll take your word for it, about angels ... and see that Marcel is painted with your usual individual and highly-coloured touch.

  2. Thank you. Now I feel like he should at least show up in the WIP. This is the problem with these angels. They're just so interesting.