[COMPLETED]
[WATTYS 2022 WINNER]
James Quinn can't die. Actually... that's not true. He's died many times - somewhere in the neighborhood of 250 - only to be reborn as himself to live his life over again.
For millennia, he's had to endure this c...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Martha waved goodbye to Tiana and her mother as she stepped through her front door. Inside, her father sat exactly where she'd left him. Flickering baseball highlights blanched his face as the lights of their house remained off. He appeared unaware she was home.
No longer concerned about upsetting the balance, she walked to the lamp beside the couch and turned it on. Because I'm pretty sure the train for Illinois has already left the station.
The light grabbed her father's attention and his eyes broke from the television. Suddenly, they softened. "What's the matter? Did something happen?"
Martha didn't know what she'd expected from him – indifference... agitation... some bizarre third option... She certainly didn't expect fatherly concern. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Your face. Were... were you crying?"
Mrs Luong had given the same reaction. Apparently, Martha's ugly cry had left ugly red splotches and puffy eyes.
Her father's eyes weren't puffy. But there was something about them – they're... HIS.
In an instant, Martha and The Ghost coalesced in the singular need to be held by their father. Her face clenched as tears fell.
"Oh sweetie!" Steven said, spreading his arms. "Come here. Come here."
Martha stumbled the short distance to collapse on the couch and fall into her daddy's lap.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he said as he gently rocked her from side to side.
Martha shook her head as it pressed into his chest. What was there to say? Could she tell him about Kurt? Or James? Could she tell him how frightening and awkward it was to be a twelve year old girl? Or a ninety year old masquerading as one? No, there was nothing.
But as the tears continued to drain from her, his t-shirt soaked them up. As he held her close, her convulsions tempered. Out of time and free from context, she finally felt safe.
"That's okay," he soothed, patting her shoulder. "I'm here."
And he was.
After a time, Martha's eyes dried, but she continued to hold her father, longing to hold the moment. Is that what this is? Only a moment? Or are you back? But though she was desperate to keep it, the thought of it ending made her anxious. The anxiety made her feel unsafe. Thus, the moment had passed.
Steven's grip loosened and they both sat up. Her tears had left a dark gray Rorschach stain on his light gray shirt. She offered him a smile and he strained to reciprocate. Then he dropped his eyes, swallowed hard, and said, "I have some bad news, Marty."
"Oh?" she said, bracing for whatever else this night wanted to throw at her.
He turned his head and stared blankly at the television as an ad for Miller's Crossing played. The silence turned awkward... then uncomfortable.
