Angel sat stiff, staring at the ruins of the crib. The fabric was dust; the wood rails charred. The soft place where his head used to lie hadn't even had occasion to form an impression. The stench that remained could only be torment now.
His head in his hands, with nowhere to go Angel acknowledged once again the hollowness that endured.
In this ash pile, a newborn beginning, out of empty necessity, Angel realized that he had a mission, an undertaking to find his son and fill the void again. Angel stood and went forth, finally, a charge worth having.