June 17th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 

For hours on end, we waited. It had only been in fairytales that we heard of the great Tinkerbelle, yet, there we stood. It was dark, but one would argue that it wasn’t, for her radiant glow was as bright as morning lights. Her wings sparkled like glitter, and it was no secret to any man, not to any at all, that the taste of whiskey could never have been more bitter. I must have been drunk, but I assure you that that wasn’t the case. And out of all the places in the world, who would have thought we would have found her here, in the graveyard.

Me and the little ones, Sailor and Oceana, had traveled far and wide to see such a fairy tale exist. And it was this final piece within the bucket their mother had never gotten the chance to pull out. However, I never believed in such, but what man would any know to turn away from the innocents of their children’s candy eyes—not I.

It hadn’t been long since their mother had passed, a year to be exact. For us, the misses had done her best to fight with every inch of her life—to stay with us was all she wished. She was everything—beautiful, strong, and perfect in every way. But sooner or later that strength would come to past. If any psychic were to tell me that I would never see my wife again, I would never have believed it. But I know she is in a better place now. Yet, still, I cannot help but miss her.

Flowers as orange as Fall rested against her stone. Two pairs of almond eyes twinkled up at me as the one that not stood but sat before us did.

“Momma,” said Oceana. “Mum Momma.”

The fairy of all tales gazed over towards our direction. And from the distance she appeared no larger than a bumble bee, yet, when she made her way over all of that would change.

She was life size. And her warmth became present as incandescent glow bounced off like a muffin upon our skin. Nothing but silence stood between. Without hesitation, Sailor had run over to the mysterious woman wrapping around her legs like the vines that coiled around the setting we became characters for. And not even seconds later, Oceana would do the same. Moonlight beamed down on all three like breaking sun, but much luminescent and gray.

“Momma, mum momma!” Yelled Sailor and Oceana.

But how. How could my once deceased wife be such? She had always been an angel, this I could never deny. But now she wielded the wings to prove it, yet, no halo hovered from above.

“Emery, my love?” said I.

A smile of heaven then opened and with it, a beauty of untold stories. The spotlight that once was, had now spread throughout the whole environment. Wings took flight, leaves blew and flew, and the children clung even tighter to the legs of which I had only dreamt in faint memory or ever knew.

“Hi, FIngo,” said the woman. “How are you love?”

Goosebumps formed upon my skin. And the woman’s soft hands would rub against it like a blind man does braille—it was if she could read my thoughts, more so my body language.

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” said the woman. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Wet lips then rubbed against my own. The smell of sweetness became apparent, yet, unfamiliar. The children still hung on, and she did not mind it for she was intertwined with thee—love and family were in the air.

From our past, Emery and I were stars, literally. And it was so that stars could not die, yet, it seemed taking on the life of a mortal was inevitable. The children knew not of what we used to be, and it was probably better that it stayed that way.

The children ran back to the car as what was told for them to do. and Emery and I would have our talk for I was not sold on the idea of who or what she was.

“What’s wrong love?” said the woman.

“Who are you?” said I. “You are not might wife, not in the slightest. And even though you are beautiful and bright, thy will not become one of the blindest.”

Silence stood between once again.

“Oh? And How so?” said the woman.

“You don’t smell like her?” said I. “You don’t even feel like her. And do not be fooled to think my memories to be a blur.”

“And how is a dead woman supposed to smell?” said the woman. “How is a dead woman supposed to feel? Hm… Well, then dig if you feel that way.”

The woman then pointed to the same stone we had not even hours before rested flowers next to. From her wings, she pulled a shovel, and from there I would begin.

Sweat and dirt mixed together, along with elbow grease if such existed, for I cannot recall a time when my elbow even sweated. Not long after, a thump of the shovel and I had found myself to the casket. Not many could say that they had dug up their wife from the ground but I sure as hell could, and don’t even bother asking me how it felt. That is another story to tell.

With hesitation and without, I opened it. It was empty. The car engine started. And the shine that once stood beside me was gone, the environment became dim. Wings rested not far from my feet, along with a jar of which appeared to be filled with sprinkles, glitter perceivably. I ran as hard as any man could when in desperate measures. But I was too late. The car was halfway down the road.

What the hell was going on? The casket of my wife was empty, and the woman that was once depicted as Tinkerbelle had vanished with my babies.

By the wings lied a letter:

Dear Fingo,

You might not remember who I am, but I remember you clear as unstained clothes. For years I have searched of your whereabouts, for a little birdie told me that you were still alive. If you are just now reading this then I assume you have met my assistant Pharra the terror. And it would be wise to do as she asks. for the safety of your family, of course. She will contact you within the next hour, but before then, a couple of things you should know. One, your wife is alive. Two, she and your children will be rejoined, when I feel the time. But three, you will be coming with me. You will be put on trial for the abandonment of your fellow soldiers, for that falling stars are supposed to die when clashing upon a planet, yet, it seems you did not, and quite frankly I find this hard to believe. To think you could just run off into the sunset baffles thee. And oh, happy fathers day, I will be seeing you soon brother.

Regards,

Starburst