Blood Loyalty and Paradise: Saturday Morning

The white-hot burn of the code faded, not with a “zip,” but like a bad dream at dawn.

I was warm.

I could feel the sun on my face. I heard birds chirping outside the window, not the growl of city traffic. The air smelled clean… like fresh-cut grass and the wind in the sheets Angela hung on the line yesterday.

I opened my eyes. The morning sun was a soft white, cutting through the blinds. I turned my head on the pillow. Angela was beside me, sleeping, her back to me. She was real.

A thump at the foot of the bed. Jackie Angel.

She bounced on the mattress, a tangle of hair and pajamas.

“C’mon Daddy! Wake up! It’s Saturday! Let’s go outside!”

She was here. They were both here.

I looked at my daughter, a ball of impossible energy, and then at my wife, stirring beside me.

I smiled. The script was mine.

A jet black raven landed on the window sill. An iridescent flash of wing seared my retina.

A stray cloud dimmed the clear sunny sky. I let out a slow sigh of despair.