Little Bird

It was in December when I lost them, when the skies were streaked with blood and the grey in my hair was as noticeable as ever. The TV was blaring in the background, the light from it illuminating the kitchen. I stood there, leaning over the sink in darkness. Waiting. For what, I'm not entirely sure. But I could feel something different. Zoe always said I had a knack for figuring out people, for knowing when things weren't right. Tonight was one of those nights.

'Daddy, look!' came a voice from the sitting room. 'Daaa-aaad!!' I stood up, stretching my back as I did so and began to walk back, hoping the pain in my left foot wasn't arthritis. Surely I wasn't old enough for that?

The room was pitch black but that didn't matter, the TV screen had lit up the entire room, the lights even finding their way under the cracks of doors and the like.

'Hey baby,' I whispered, bending down on my knees to face my little girl. She looked up at me with the biggest brown eyes I'd ever laid eyes on, shining with excitement. The TV only exaggerated it, and I watched the lights play across her pupils.

'Look,' she said, pointing at the TV. A red light flashed across it with the sign, 'BREAKING NEWS' and then a news reporter flashed on screen. I noticed that she looked flustered, her dark hair sticking in various directions, her papers scattered across the table.

'The update on Manhattan's General Hospital is that the closure seems to be connected to the recent medical trials. The trials originally involved 15 young individuals that tested a new drug designed to increase retinal blood supply in hopes to successfully cure blindness, however.. the.. the...... can result in...' The TV cut out then and the room turned black. My baby immediately began crying in the dark until I found her and caught her up in my arms. Then, the lights flashed on. I saw Zoe in the doorway and smiled at her, feeling my little girl wrap her little arms around my neck. I felt her tiny eyelashes on my jugular, heard her little sniffs as she brought herself out of her fears.

'Mommy!' she exclaimed, scrambling in my arms and racing over to her. She clambered over her toys that were strewn across our sand coloured floor and yanked on her mother's dress until she embraced her.

'Baby, why aren't you in bed? It's 10pm already, your Daddy doesn't half spoil you!' and she looked up at me, raising her eyebrow. I grinned back at her and crossed the room, kicking the toys to the side as I did so. 'I spoil both my girls,' I explained and kissed Zoe lightly on the lips, and then my little girl on the top of her head.

'Definitely time for bed now, Noah,' I whispered and I heard her little sigh. I lifted her from her Mom, feeling the small curve of her shoulder blade. Her bones were as light as a bird's.

I took her starfish hand and led her to her bedroom down the hallway and we traced the painted birds across her wall as we made our way to her bed.

'In to bed, little bird,' I said softly, leaning down to tuck her in. She looked up at me then, trying to hold her eyes open as the thought of slumber caught up with her. Her soft brown curls rested on her shoulders and I pulled the duvet up, making sure she was as comfortable as possible. I made sure she had her toy bird with her too, and as her eyes closed and she met out a sigh, I gently kissed her forehead and wished her goodnight.

'Are you okay?' Zoe asked me, as she slumped back on our couch. 'You ignored me when I said hello, you seem.. distracted?' she questioned, her voice soft. 'I don't feel so great though, such a long day at work ...'

I sat beside her and opened my arms so she could lay her head on my chest, hear my heartbeat. She sighed and allowed her body to fall against mine, her black hair under my chin, the smell of pineapple shampoo tickling my nose.

I gently pressed my lips to her head, 'I was watching the news, it switched off.' I explained with a frown. I let out a contended sigh, feeling comforted in the warmth of our home with my two girls.

'Is she sleeping?' she whispered softly.

'Yes, she looks so cute.' I said quietly, remembering her tiny hands and her wispy curls. Her bright chocolate eyes and her quick, flighty movements that got her her nickname, Little Bird.

'You're such a big softie,' she said with a giggle, punching me lightly in the stomach. I felt myself go a little red then, especially when she leant up and kissed my cheek lightly. After 13 years of marriage, Zoe could still make my heart thump and my mind race ahead of me. She had me, completely.

We had our fair share of arguments, sure. The kind where anger and frustration takes over your body and your words are all wrong. You didn't mean them, and both of you knew that. We would never let each other go, not now. Especially since Noah was born, that little bundle that made my life feel complete since I first laid my eyes on her. I was in love with her since her tiny hand wrapped itself around my finger, since she looked up at me with those eyes. Those eyes that got her out of so much trouble, getting me to let her stay up late, eating what she wanted, buying her whatever toy she liked.

I remember the first time she cried. We'd driven to the woods and walked through when the sun pierced it's way through foliage, the light of it dancing delicately across the gravel paths. We followed the path until we reach the hill, Noah trailing Zoe and I, bored and tired from the hour walk. We reached the top when the sun began to set, the remnants of her gift staining the skies in farewell. And that's when she ran. Noah, running as free as a wild horse across the hills with wind whipping through her hair and burning her face with its force. She ran for what seemed forever, the biggest smile on her face, her eyes bright and excitable, her arms out at her sides. Zoe and I sat alone on the hillside, keeping our ears out for Noah (she was more talkative than easy to spot visually).

Next thing I knew she was hiding behind the biggest oak tree I'd seen, in floods of tears that stained her cheeks. I immediately assumed she'd been hurt but she shook her head.

'What is it then, baby?' I asked her reassuringly.

'I'm not crying because I fell over, I didn't hurt myself that way,' she explained slowly, sobbing after nearly every word. 'I wanted to fly but they won't let me. I wanted to fly with the birds...'

I wrapped her up in my arms then and carried her home, shocked at her intelligence and maturity. That night, as I tucked her into bed, I told her she'd always be my little bird and hence the name stuck.

Waking up on the couch with Zoe sprawled across me, I slowly pushed her stiff body off of me so I could get up. My throat was sore and I longed for water. I realised I'd been dreaming of Noah then and smiled. I heard a footsteps then, Zoe had probably woken up and stepped onto one of Noah's toys.

I sipped my drink as I heard Zoe's feet patter down the hallway, she'd always liked to check on Noah at night time as if she were to disappear. I liked to think of it as reminding myself of my greatest achievement, knowing that she'll be curled up asleep her little button nose twitching occasionally as she dreamt. She was so perfect when she slept, my daughter. For the first year of her life, Zoe and I would watch her for hours each night. After six years, we'd do it at least once a week for half an hour so but I always stayed for longer and more frequently. It was my favourite thing, to see her eyes flicker behind her closed eyelids as she slept, to know she was safe. Until the past year, she suffered from horrific nightmares and so I liked to be there in case she had another one. That was a father's job; to protect and provide for your family. I had to be there for not just her, but for myself.

I heard her door swing open, the hinge creaky and irritating as I leant against the sink thinking of tomorrow and dinner and work and all the bad things adults have to remember.

I was torn out of my reverie when a howl of terror tore through the otherwise silent atmosphere. It was like an animal had been caught in a trap, like it's limb was being ripped from the rest of its body, like a pain that was too unbearable that all you could do was cry out- to beg for someone to take your life from you. It was the sound of my daughter- my little bird- being murdered.