Five Frame Advancement

Angel
A concrete angel stands high above other headstones in the cemetery, her chubby hands folded in prayer. Her hair and dress have been molded to give the appearance of movement; their fluttering is permanent. The angel’s feet are bare. With her outspread wings she seems to be watching over the cemetery’s residents.
A maroon-colored car approaches. Its engine is loud and rattles and the car is old and in need of repair. The driver pumps the brake to get the car to stop and turns it off. After trying, unsuccessfully, to open his door, the driver curses and climbs out through the passenger’s side.
The man walks slowly and slightly hunched forward, though he is no more than 35 years old. His clothes are rumpled and he very likely slept in them. He is probably handsome, blond and blue-eyed, but his face is so contorted with sadness that it is hard to be certain. He hasn’t shaved in weeks. The man shuffles toward the angel and stops in front of it.
He stares at it for some time. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes and finally, he lays his head against the base of the statue, near the angel’s feet. The concrete is cool against his skin and he is thankful that he chose the angel, though he could no more afford her than he could afford his own rent.
Now he is sliding to his knees, a wail of grief silent on his lips, and he covers his face with his hands. His wife filed for a divorce today and he will not fight it. Their loss has created a rift that they cannot mend. The man lets his hands fall from his face and he looks at the angel whose hands are folded in a gesture mimicking his own. She seems to be telling him to keep it together for just a little longer.