“Greg?” called Odette, knocking on the half bathroom door. Taking his wife into his arms he slowly walked her out of the hotel’s lavatory. There was a broken window and glass splinters beside the doorway that caught both their eyes. 

“It’s the gale,” said the cleaning woman who sat crouched, picking up the shards of glass, “it’s heading towards Stratford.” Odette slowly touched her belly and smiled subconsciously. Every time her baby kicked, she felt a resurgent joy flowing through her veins. Placing his arm around her shoulder, Greg slowly escorted her back to their room. 

“It’s time we leave,” said Odette, kissing her belly. Greg stood staring at all those windows that were broken. For some reason, he didn’t want to leave. 

“You heard that the storm is heading towards Stratford,” he knelt down to feel his child, “should we leave? Why can’t we stay here for a few more days? After all, you need some rest.” 

It was Odette’s eighth month. Greg had promised to take her around the world to celebrate their sacred gift from heaven. Their journey would come to an end once they reach home at Stratford. But he had observed that Odette’s health was getting progressively worse with every passing day. At nights he had seen her sobbing in pain. Terror was haunting him everyday and he didn’t have the caliber to combat it. He loved Odette and he didn’t want to lose her. 

“We have survived a dozen storms. We endured the famines in India and the volcano eruption in Africa. We have seen floods, landslides, tornadoes and toxic algal blooms in this long journey. We did them all, ’cause we had faith; we did them all with God. This is nothing but a little storm. And why should I be afraid when this little man is creating storms and cyclones inside me! Have faith, darling. We have started it and I won’t stop without ending it,” Odette gently touched his chiseled face. He had the kind of phiz that stopped you in your tracks. Of course, he was handsome to every eye and heart, but deep inside he was much more beautiful. 

“Have you ever answered my questions with a yes?” he asked, to which both of them laughed. It was time to pack things up. Their train was to come in half an hour. And their journey would end there; their first long journey together as a trio. 

The Greater Anglia train arrived right in time and they waved goodbye to the beautiful city of Northumberland. 

“The Met Office has predicted that cities like Stratford, Kitchener, Hamilton and Brampton will witness heavy rains with a wind speed of 60-70 kilometres per hour. Meteorologists have warned that a similar thunderstorm-like condition that ensued in Toronto the previous day, can be expected in parts of Stratford...,” the newscaster on the television announced. Every time she spoke, Greg’s mind translated, Don’t go to Stratford! Don’t go to Stratford! He dug his fingernails in his arms and bit his lower lip. Odette knew that his mind was in a turmoil. She slowly reached his hands and held onto his fingers. She wasn’t merely holding his hands but their fingers were intertwined. 

“Have faith,” she whispered those words of comfort, though she herself was going through a hurricane inside. 

Gusty winds welcomed them when they reached Stratford. In fact, they seemed to be the only people to have taken the train. They were finally home after the two hundred and forty three day vacation. Greg tried to call for a cab to take them home, but Odette stopped him. Her bony face looked pale and her eyes had sunken deep into their sockets. Some cry out in pain, some throb in hurt, but this was the problem with Odette; she did nothing at all. Her body shriveled as though she was ready to return to the soil. 

“I-I think, we should go to the hospital first,” she said, as her soma went numb. The skies grew darker and a rolling lightning flashed through the carpet above. It was followed by an ear piercing thunder that reverberated throughout the station walls. Carrying his dying wife in his arms, he ran over the damp earth where the worms had surfaced to breathe. The rains had already started pouring and he ran as fast as his legs could take. Even after living in Stratford for twenty years, he couldn’t think of the nearest hospital. 

“Jesus!” he cried and turned his head to find a building with a red cross. He laid down his immobile wife in a stretcher and a few nurses came running towards him. They wheeled her into the casualty ward, asking him to stay back in the waiting room. 

“We have to do the surgery, else both their lives will be in great peril,” Greg heard the doctor’s words as he put his ear against the door. Running out of the hospital, he made a loud wild scream. He felt like tumbling into a dark seemingly endless chasm called agony, going down, down, down and dwindling to an atom. He felt like falling into the dark abyss for hours when suddenly the rains paused. Loud cries of a newborn baby filled the air. 

Greg found himself standing on his knees on the crumbling road of tarmac. The sky that was dark and cloudy seconds ago was now fully clear and a scorching sun appeared as if it had come all the way to dry his soggy clothes.

“Gregory Miller?” a woman from the front desk came calling his name. He ran into the doctor’s room, water dribbling from his wet clothes. 

“Dr. Diane Jones,” read the wooden name plate. The look in her eyes was more than enough for him to perceive that his treasures were in right hands. Her silver hair was in a tight bun, not a strand out of place. Kind words were all that came out from her mouth. He felt quite odd to be treated so much like a child, yet he listened to every word she spoke.

“Odette is perfectly fine and has gained consciousness. It surprises me how she made no sound at all,” said the doctor, with a gentle smile plastered on her face. 

“Can-can I meet them?” Greg asked at last. 

“Oh, yes—” the doctor began, but before she could complete, Greg rushed out of the room and went to find his wife and child. In a flash, he entered room 28 and led himself inside the doorway.

There was whiteness all over the place; white walls, white sheets, fluorescent tubes and lace drapes. Odette lay on the little bed, tucked inside a blanket. Her arms were covered in tubes and the paleness had disappeared. She glowed like a new primrose, so ethereal, so delicate, so new. 

“She has your eyes!” Odette chuckled as she slowly traced her fingers over his brows. Greg remained silent for a minute and all at once his face buckled and tears streamed down his cheeks. He kissed her fingers and whispered words of love. He knew how excruciating it must have been for her.

“The struggle was really hard, Greg,” she said, “seconds stretched into infinity; I don’t know how long the process really took. I prayed, prayed for the agony to subside. But it only grew more intense. I don’t think anything could be more brutal. Yet, I had faith. And all of a sudden, I felt like the world was put on a pause. Muted scenes flashed through my mind. And in a quick moment, like flowers opened for spring, I saw the most beautiful thing before my eyes in the whole wide world, Greg! It felt like a glimmer of light passing through a soul that had seen nothing but dark shadows. Go! Go take a look at the angel you have brought to the world!” sweet tears of joy rolled down her cheeks like an endless stream of emotions. Greg rose from his bed, making himself ready to let happiness soak through his bones. 

A silver cradle was attached to Odette’s mattress where a cute, distinct form of an angel laid pampered in the finest linen. Her nascent eyes glowed with the warmth of an everlasting hearth. Greg slid his little finger into her palm and watched her slowly curl around it. He held in his hands, the greatest gift God can bestow; a parcel, packed and delivered freshly from heaven. 

One of the little girl’s fingers got hold of his sleeve. For an instant he felt like a new sunshine was passing through his veins. But as he turned back, he found a little spark in his blouse that grew into flames. Placing the child back in the cradle, he rapidly used his hands to put out the fire. Odette was taken aback. The two slowly turned towards their baby. A new layer of ice started growing in the metal bars of the cradle where she held her hands. Greg and Odette stood awestruck at those unnatural things that happened right before their eyes. She was no ordinary child. She played with the water and wind like snakes and ladders. Odette was appalled that something bad might befall her daughter, but Greg was enjoying the little sprog’s tricks. 

“So Millers, have you decided your baby’s name?” a familiar voice came out of the blue. It was Dr. Jones. They wondered how long she had been standing there.

Long before their baby was born, Odette had talked about George and Georgia while Greg went on with Oliver and Olivia. But relishing in this moment of felicity, they didn’t give a second thought about deciding their child’s moniker. 

The young couple looked at each other. It was as if they could read their minds by simply looking into their eyes. After a long pause of complete silence, they put forth, together, the most beautiful name anyone could give their child — Faith. 

there is something entirely ethereal

in standing above the skyline,

your body just another blur of colour

in the blue-silver cityscape

you could walk to the top

of the big night sky and call it home,

don’t you know?

but you remain there, on the threshold,

uncurl your fingers and reach

(though you’re not sure what for)

and you wait. patiently. placidly.

for a word. one word

to counter, or maybe complement

the three words you’ve been thinking all this time

you fill your lungs with night air

tasting of peaches and pinky promises

and still you wait,

peering down, down at far-away shadows of

cherry blossom trees cast over sidewalk squares

asphalt like a blank canvas pleading to be made art

there are many words that could be said

here, now on this rooftop

but only one with the potential to tug you

away from the edge,

away from the end

to scratch out ‘epilogue’ and write the next chapter

“don’t.”

echoing, echoing

bouncing between buildings

carving itself into the walls of your skull

don’t, don’t, don’t

and at this solitary word

you

f

a

l

l

but not down to the cherry blossoms

you baptized with tears of premature heartache

or the sidewalk squares

or down at all, really

no, you fall in love

for the first time and maybe the hundredth time

just a tall child in love in late spring

"Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing

Thanks for all the joy they're bringing

Who can live without it? I ask in all honesty

What would life be?"

Oh what a life there is?

With music just about everywhere

From songs that I listen to

To those in television and games.

Music keeps the world alive

And not so mute, so dead

Then, now, and for the time to come

Thank you music, for making the world better.

"Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing

Thanks for all the joy they're bringing

Who can live without it? I ask in all honesty

What would life be?"