“All Angels Have Wings”
The sound of the shovel was deafening, and he was in no hurry. Took one slow but determined dig, one after the other. The soil slowly building in a pile next to him while the hole in the ground now reached his knees. At no point in time did he puff or complain, almost like he did not tire. He just kept digging and whistling the same short melody over and over.
"Fffff fff fff fff, ff-fff fff fffff fff ff-fff.” Trish didn’t recognise the tune, but she knew that his whistling, along with sounds of the soil brushing against the shovel, would be the last things she heard. She was going to die. She could already feel it. The stab wound was bad, and she had been bleeding for hours now, going in and out of consciousness. She just hoped it would all end before she was put in the ground. Before the soil suffocated her and the ground took claim over her body.