Angel

I back down the hallway, my six-year-old mind a muddled mess. My feet slide on something wet and I look down. There are smears of red stuff, like paint, all over the ground. Oh no, Mommy will be so upset. She just mopped the floor yesterday.

Then I hear footsteps on the creaky floor. Heavy footsteps, like Daddy's. But the man coming around the corner was not Daddy. He has golden hair that looks like it's glowing. Over his shoulder, I see white things moving as he walks slowly toward me. An angel? Has he come to save me?

I relax. Maybe the angel will fly me away to live on the clouds. I look towards the angel, and he holds out his hand. 

 Just before I step forward and take it, I notice something weird.

The angel has red paint on the tips of his wings.