“I don’t want to die alone,” she said, seeming so much younger now. Maybe seeming as young as she actually was.
“We have to stop,” he said, and she looked down at the child. “I’m serious,” he said.
“I feel like I was just a thing you used to figure out a bearable way to die,” she said.
“At least you have more purpose in my life than I have in yours.”
“What are you talking about?” she said.
“How many men are there? How many who are just like me, without a face or name, standing in for your father?” he said with no real ire.
“You have a name. I know your name,” she said, biting her lip.
“What is it?” he asked.
“What’s mine?” she responded. They both smiled in the silence. “Did you hear that Venus might reach some sort of equilibrium?” she said, changing the subject, when suddenly the keening wail of a car alarm cut her short. It started as just one, but then suddenly there was a chorus.
The sound of windows breaking echoed through the neighborhood, and she watched with wide eyes as his keys flew from his pocket and continued to fly upwards to where Venus had stricken the sky a deep red.
He could see the peeling bodies of cars rising up some neighborhoods away. He looked back at her just as she was swiftly picked up by her feet, still with his child in her arms. Yet there was nothing on her face asking for help, just a slack
expression of the looming threat confirmed, anticipation converted to recognition. He stood where he was and watched.
She rose slowly, then faster. The child was peaceful in her arms, and it was only just as they were out of reach that it started to cry. He watched her shape recede inside of the first magnetic wave to strike the east coast, and then quietly went back inside to break the news to his wife. ♦
Raven Leilani | 23