It was bright, so bright. His hand naturally shielded his bright blue eyes. Such a change from the dark loneliness of the windowless quarantine. Alas, it was finally over.

Being from Canada, he arrived in his home country to find they had instituted a law during the time abroad. People whom lived in Canada but were out of the country during the COVID-19 outbreak were subject to mandatory quarantine for two weeks upon their return. That angered him to no end. He stewed in it for what seemed every waking second.

How he longed; to hold his daughter and look into her oceanic blue/green eyes. To listen to her two-and-a-half year old not full laugh but oh so cute. The sweetest half giggle, half laugh anyone ever heard. The sounds cracked together. It was a winsome crackle. To watch her tiny hands as they smoothed her dolls hair with stern intent. How she exuded her love as if it were a tangible fluid substance radiating from her. He pined for it all.

But now he was finally on his way home. He looked out the car window, seeing everything in this new bright light. The world seemed so much more alive and bright. The wind whistled outside the SUV. It was strong, so strong the gusts felt as though he was fighting a flat tire to keep it between the lines. None of that mattered. He would see his daughter… finally.

The roads were near empty, most still not feeling the world safe enough to overcome the already entrenched stir crazy. Driving, he couldn’t help thinking about how the world looked new, bright, yet desolate, yet full of life.

He wished his phone had not died the first day. He wished they had granted access to one but quarantine meant no contact, locked in a cell, a comfortable cell but still a cell. The confinement made him envision with love and clarity how Em, his daughter would run and jump up into his arms gripping him with as much strength as leaves holding onto their branch midst a hurricane. It had been two weeks since he had heard her delicate little voice.

As he pulled into the driveway, his heart fluttered. It literally stopped for a millisecond. He could not have told friend nor stranger the reason, but something was drastically wrong. As he walked up to the door, it was dawning on him; the house looked deserted. Em wasn’t running out to embrace him. Where was Em and her encompassing smile of love?

He ran so fast an onlooker wouldn’t be sure if he would run through the door before opening it. The house was empty. Sure, it had furnishings, but it was devoid of life. Even the plants, healthy as they were, looked lifeless to him. Where was that bright?

He searched but found no note… no message anywhere. He plugged in his phone. There was that familiar tone, 247 new messages. The texts so angry, it would surprise all his hands did not catch flame. 243 of those messages sucked the bright out of his world forever. Em was in the hospital she had contracted the virus. Sifting through to find the less heated, he discovered it was dire. "Where was he?" his daughter was dying. "Where was he?" she needed her father. "Where was he?"… Em was asking for him. The grasping questions never ceased.

Reading, he envisioned hearing the tears running down his wife’s face as his first struck his mobile. The final message, dourly saying his wife was at her mother’s place making funeral arrangements.

She was always to blame.

Imogen as most six-year-olds trying to get their point across, was ever boisterous, “It’s the Karmimps!”

“You invented that word, now stop with that foolishness and accept responsibility for your actions young lady.”

She sniffed, “it’s only gonna get worse you know. You keep pointing the finger at me and it gives you more bad karma, then the Karmimps make you pay.” Her down trodden head shook slowly, evoking disbelief.

She looked so darn cute he felt he must humour her, “tsk… All right, tell me all about these Kar… wud you call them?”

As ebullient as a Cherubkarm, “the Karmimps, Daddy. You know about good and bad karma right?”

Snickering and thinking this should be interesting, he goaded in a tender voice, “of course Legwarmer, go on.”

“Well Cherubkarms spread good karma and look like happy, cartoon baby angels.” Her face turned devious and vexed as she continued, “Karmimps are really nasty ’n testy tricksters that push bad karma. I bet that’s why Mrs. Applebum’s dog is so mean too.” She added, not noticing her body language yelled it was an afterthought.

Having a difficult time holding back his laughter — Mrs. Applebum was really Mrs. Applebaum -but it somehow suited — he mimicked his best questioning face, which looked more comical than quizzical, “ohh really and what do they look like?”

“Uh…” Caught off guard she chose anger to deflect, “I just told you mean and nasty!” She calmed herself and tried to pretend it a facade — hands ’n face moved as a parody of claws and furiousness — “and testy like… sheesh, and you say I don’t listen,” she shrugged with elbows bent, palms up and out, “like imps.”

“So, you’re saying it was the Karmimps that spilled the bowl of whole wheat cereal on your Mother’s work papers?” — Imogen detested whole wheat.

“No silly they wouldn’t just spill, they would pour it on purpose.” She tucked her head some, displaying her remorseful bashfulness. “Probably cuz Mom got mad at me for no reason earlier in the bathroom — It wasn’t me that dropped her lipstick in the toilet, you know — they do things for the karma, like Karma Police.” She finished with a complementary, ‘he has to be buying this’ smile.

“I see, so when something bad happens it’s the Karmimps and when good things happen it’s the… wud you call them again?”

“The Cherubkarms.”

“And the Cherubkarms… how do they do all the good?”

“They whisper in peoples ears so low you don’t even hear it but they do it anyway. Things like; don’t spank Immy, give Immy a hug, give Immy a kiss. And give Immy a doughnut for breakfast — stop feeding Immy whole wheat, you know the good stuff and it works too.” She proclaimed while crossing her fingers behind her back as her head vigorously bounced ‘yes’. It was clear she hoped the ‘uh huh I’m telling you so - so it must be true’ she willfully emitted would last long enough to get a double chocolate dip for breakfast.

Scratching his head he asked, “hmm, if I don’t give you any trouble for Mom’s paperwork — that’s good karma right — does that mean the Cherubkarms will magic you to be a good daughter?”

Huffing and stomping toward and then up the stairs all the way to her room, “Grrr… You’re making fun of me! Leave me alone! I’m going to go play with my barbies!”

“Hug the Cherubkarms while you’re up there, maybe you’ll turn into a good girl,” he called after her midst his snorting laugh.

I avoided the clock. I stared and concentrated on the tissue box. The alluring manner in which the colors faded from the focal point; The hue made lighter and softer in a continual swirling pattern, as if the designer extracted an airbrush paint gun with delicate precision from the canvas. I did the same, with different items fixated upon each hour I visited Dr. Dummkopf. That is not his birth name, but in German it has the childish direct translation of stupidhead. I loved the gleefulness felt pretending youth again, a distracting from the ever present hate. Plus, it suited his simple mind of preconceptions.

I never determined which was worse, remaining with my children’s mother, the court proceedings or putting up with him; A fool with the power to influence the court’s rulings. It was so frustrating.

“We must rectify the justice system. Society is sexist, and it overlooks the sacrifices of fathers. And, the aftermath of tortures brought on by the sexual prejudice which Judges uphold is atrocious. Not to mention, the court’s steadfast stance of women being born more suitable for raising children, not only is it laughable but it’s downright criminal!” I stated with a sigh once he, at last paused his relentless droning.

On the chaise, I wondered… had I managed changing the “duh” self forehead slap to a nonchalant fixing of the part in my hair in time? How well did I cover up the disdain by showing no emotion? I was such a nitwit, catering to Dr. Swiss Cheese Brain, feeding his fancy to misconstrue. In his opinion, nothing I said was straight forward serious conversation, it invariably had a subconscious inclination.

Wishing I had a knife named Freudian to slip across my throat, I heard him start. “So, you’re still angry things aren’t going to your liking in Family Court?”

He missed every valid point, diving in with the emotional judgment again. Typical! Dr. Head Up His Arse as expected, vaulted the perceived problem with his misguided perception that individuals depend on aid with their emotions. It was the sole reason for his field of study. Otherwise, why be in therapy? Could it be because of a one sided slanderous custody battle? Nah, a woman never lies to keep possession of their babies. Instead in ignorance he provoked. It never occurred to him, I went solely to prove I was not maladjusted, violent nor encumbered with mental issues as that malicious lawyer of my ex-girlfriend proclaimed.

I laid there fuming inside, my blood pressure off the charts. Maladjusted?! Violent?! Mental issues?! Were my ex, her counselor and DR. Ignoramus not to this day alive and healthy? Had I hurt them in any fashion? Was I any of those accusations, they would be dead.

The first and only attempt to distract my brain was foolhardy. I imagined living in a world where energy was visible to the naked eye and my unfathomable animosity radiated bright as magnesium burning. Definitely not a Zen state, it did diddly-squat to staunch the core fires from consuming. Six weeks, and we were getting nowhere! They cemented my kids with that lying manipulative cunt and this… this… indescribable asshole, wanted to scrutinize the depths of my anger. Too idiotic to realize he was fuelling it, re-fuelling and even over fuelling it. Only to leave the appointment, return to the next and have the cycle restart. FUUUUUUCK!!! Reverberated in my skull while I predicted my forehead turning into a five-head by ripping out my hair.

Hey, guess what, I know I’m angry, I know why I’m angry, I found the bottom of my chasm of loathing, no necessity to explore it Dr. Dumbass! Why not, stop and listen to the actual problems?!

If I thought it assured a change to future events, I would explain to him not a single person considers it; shrewd nor fruitful to trigger your patients envisioning your head so far up your ass you ought to taste food normal.