(not yet titled)

(T) I wrote this on holiday. I'm not sure where this fits in anywhere, but I knew instantly it was too good (imo) to not be included somewhere.

Her hair is faint; its colour died out long ago. She is tired, and her mind is telling her to give up, yet she keeps on trying. She reaches out and the silvery air she touches turns to grey ash, falling through each of her fingers like satanic sand. The glowing hot coals are her path leading to no where, still she walks on endlessly, hoping to find something, anything, but all that precedes her is a black void. She fumbles her way through the choking smoke and fog, but it just plays around her fingertips, stroking her hair like a tormenter torturing a child, jeering her with what should be there but never is. She calls out to the missing and the echo repeats forever. Her own voice dances around her, a cruel reminder of what she doesn't have.
Her eyes widen to the glow in the distance; a small dancing light playfully swims towards her. It's an angel, a young one with fluffy white wings. It's genderless, but its eyes are warm and inviting. It offers its hand, reading out to touch her fingers. She responds at this glimmer of hope, but her blackened heart takes over, making her fiery, hell-tainted fingertips burst into flames as soon as they recognise the innocence invading her soul. The delicate implements belonging to the angel are scorched. and it scurries away desperately, screaming from the pain. This is a common event: the bright promise of an end to her eternal search deserting her due to her haunting past. Once again the guilt and hurt sets into her cold heart where happiness once stood.

She awoke from another nightmare, but this time, instead of stirring in a state of instant confusion, she lay, unmoved, still half bored of the constant theme of pain and guilt, and half self-loathing that such events were constantly allowed to happen.