Angel Smoke
Ramblings of a Retired Mind Angel Smoke The scent was unmistakable. Being hypersensitive to every shift in the air, I recognized it immediately, that crisp, biting aroma of burning leaves in early December. It felt nostalgic until it didn't. At the front of the room, Sister Mary sighed, her mind already drifting toward a quiet cup of tea. Only one hour of school remained. But the smoke began to cling to the inside of my nostrils, a persistent, sharp irritation. "Sister Mary, what is that smell?" Before she could answer, three students burst in from the library, faces pale. "Sister Mary, there’s smoke in the hallway!" No alarms. No warnings. Sister Mary peered into the corrido...