12:07 A.M.

12:07 a.m.

The moon illuminated an empty cliff. A sedan sat behind the metal barrier overlooking an ocean of dark green and black. The gentle breeze stirred the trees, sending a hush through the quiet scenery. Hundreds of feet below, darkness enveloped the forest floor; peaceful oblivion hidden away from the eye of God.

9:09 p.m.

A car pulled up to the barrier at the edge of the cliff. Inside, a young man sat with a cigarette in his mouth, unlit. He stared out at the expanse of forest in dull wonder. Music blared against the stillness of the night, rattling the frame of the car and deafening the man.

His face became lit with an orange glow from his lighter with a flick of his thumb. He pulled in the heat and smoke, watching the red ring burn down the length of his cigarette. The smoke that filled his mouth was tasteless against his dry tongue.

Releasing the smoke through his nostrils, the view became obscured with a thick cloud. For a moment, it seemed that even the full moonlight couldn’t break through. He watched as the smoke danced and was eventually sucked into the night air through the window.

10:13 p.m.

The man turned off the car. A dull thrumming replaced the screaming chorus and only continued to deafen him. Taking the cigarette from his lips, he put it out on the center console before dropping it into the cup holder with the remains of others.

Black dots freckled the leather console; cigarette burns, coffee stains, a small shoe print barely the length of his palm. The interior reeked of smoke and burnt dust from the ancient heating system. Nose streaks and drool smeared the back windows to the point where they were near impossible to see through. The cream-colored carpet held the remains of stomped in french fries and candy. It was a junker that had been a mess when he purchased it. Somehow he wasn’t sure if the current state was worse.

Rubbing his face, the man sat back and stared at the brightly colored stickers that lined the ceiling. Princesses and unicorns, stars and rainbows all scattered along a central location in the back seat. The corners of many were curled, the adhesive slowly failing. Soon they would fall among the rest of the litter. Forgotten and ground into the carpet.

10:21 p.m.

He reclined the driver’s seat back and stared at the constellation of pastel stickers. As if he would receive a message in the chaos of them. In the silence and darkness, they had nothing to say.

10:25 p.m.

She had drawn on the door.

Tiny smiley faces and animals. That one thing was probably a star. Their collections were streaked by spilled apple juice, rain, and dog slobber.

His eyes followed the pattern of childish scribbles until he came to something more familiar. Among the horses and kitties, he spotted an owl. She loved owls. Kept one of the big plastic ones meant to ward off mice in her bedroom.

He sat up and lit another cigarette.

10:42 p.m.

The slam of the car door startled night birds from the trees. He watched them soar across the clear sky before they disappeared among the inky blackness.

“What’s it like to fly, daddy?”

“I don’t know, baby. It’s probably fun though. You get to be way up high above the trees.”

“I want to fly someday!”

“You will, baby.”

“You will,” he whispered to no one.

10:45 p.m.

The night was mild for January. Even the slight breeze that went through the trees wasn’t enough to make someone shiver. It was enough for him to wear a thick jacket.

He would have made her wear a coat. Coat, snow pants, gloves, and a knit cap. In all that gear, she looked like a marshmallow. Her little arms dangling off her sides.

When she was a baby, she’d waddle in her snow pants and coat. Amy used to say she looked like a baby penguin. Had nicknaming her Penguin started her obsession with birds? Didn’t matter; she was Penguin from when she first began to toddle. He was Daddy Penguin, and Amy was Mommy Penguin.

Monty, the Emperor Penguin, was in the back seat, staring back at him from beside the indented cushions. Monty was missing an eye and had an awkward stitch repair on his left wing and belly from when Bubby got a hold of him. Penguin stopped playing with Bubby for a long time after discovering the dismembered bird. Didn’t even look at the pit bull for a while. To punish him for tearing something apart, something she loved.

Bubby never understood why Penguin stopped talking to him. Couldn’t really blame the poor mutt; he was only a dog. How could he know that Monty was so precious? All Bubby knew was that Monty smelled like his best friend and was fun to play with.

Now Monty was here in the car staring blankly back at Daddy Penguin with his one, lifeless brown glass eye. He was here safe from Bubby’s curious jaws. Bubby’s yearning, drooling, maw so full of love and kisses. Monty was here instead, lying among the cheerios and candy remains.

11:00 p.m.

“What the fuck am I supposed to say, Amy? What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to talk to me! You can’t keep running away from this-”

“Get off my ass! I’m working through this the only way I know. I don’t need your fucking small groups or self-help books. They’re bullshit, Amy! It’s all a bunch of pretentious crap people pander to suckers for a quick buck!”

He shouldn’t have let her walk out.

He should have gone to her and apologized. She was only trying to help; he knew that. Amy had always been better at processing emotions than he had; she went to school to be a therapist after all. And he had shat all over her expertise.

She didn’t need to push him, though. She knew he didn’t understand that kind of stuff- that he needed to work on it by himself. It was like she knew things that he didn’t. As if she had all the answers and all he had to do was open up so she could pour in her wealth of knowledge.

Fuck that. She should have backed off. Shouldn’t have given up so damn quickly in the first place.

If she had just--

He wiped his face, pushing the tears back into his unkempt hair. The moonlight burned his eyes. The stars blurred and streaked across the sky like the smudges on the back windows in his vision.

11:14 p.m.

Even with the smell of tobacco in the air, he couldn’t get the nauseatingly sterile scent of the hospital out of his nose. As if it were permanently imprinted in his senses.

Cold, white tile matched with the supposedly calming blue walls. According to Amy’s understanding of color theory, it was supposed to promote health and wellness. It had just pissed him off after a while.

There had never been anything calming about those walls.

11:28 p.m.

She cried so much.

All those tubes and needles. All the noises those machines made all day, every day. The people coming in and out to check on her. All the pain…

His little Penguin had been in so much pain. Unlike the nature shows, he couldn’t swim to her rescue then tuck her underneath his brood pouch to keep her safe. He tried to feed her and give her things to drink, but she’d only vomit them back up.

11:39 p.m.

He remembered how guilty he felt when he accidentally crumbled the picture Penguin had drawn for him. It had been an accident. He had been holding the drawing when he and Amy met with the doctor one last time.

Amy barely shed a tear at the final diagnosis.

How could she be so cold? Their daughter was dying, and she wasn’t even fucking crying!

In his rage, he had balled up the last thing his Penguin would ever give to him: a picture of an owl.

11:58 p.m.

He paced in front of the car. His fists slammed into the hood over and over until his knuckles finally split. In the darkness, on the side of the road, no one heard him scream.

He screamed until his throat was as raw as his little girl’s had been in the end. Until he was sure he felt blood coming up. Until he had no voice left to scream with.

He threw rocks at trees and at the car until his energy was spent, and he found himself standing at the edge of the cliff.

12:05 a.m.

He stared over the vast abyss of trees before him. Inside he felt hollow, drained; there was nothing left. The occasional breeze rushed from under him to rustle his clothes.

Glancing down, he couldn’t see the bottom of the cliff. Everything beneath his feet was enveloped in an inky blackness that invited him to jump. Invited him to take one more step and put a stop to all the emptiness that he felt. To all the feelings of failure.

A sudden screech made him jump. He wobbled on the edge only to stumble back at the last second. Turning, his eyes were met with the beautiful figure of an owl. Its toasted marshmallow coloring shone brightly in the moonlight as it looked at him from the guard rail.

At first, the man stooped to pick up a rock when he stopped. He stared at the ground for a moment before looking up to the owl again. It was a barn owl.

Penguin had loved the barn owls that lived on their property. She stayed up late to watch them hunt, then would walk around looking for the pellets they left behind after feeding. Weird thing for a kid to do- it had always freaked Amy out, but Penguin loved everything about birds…

A tear slid down his face as he stared at the bird. His jaw quivered as the owl cocked its head to the side. “P- Penguin? You come to check on daddy?”

He watched as the owl adjusted its feet before opening its wings to take off. Rushing to his feet, he stood on the edge of the cliff and watched as the owl circled overhead. Then it wheeled away and shrank over the forest, a tiny dot of white over a sea of black.

“You’re flying, baby…” he whispered as his vision blurred. Stepping closer to the edge of the cliff, he gave a weak smile. “You’re flying.”

12:07 a.m.

The moon illuminated an empty cliff. A sedan sat behind the metal barrier overlooking an ocean of dark green and black. The gentle breeze stirred the trees, sending a hush through the quiet scenery. Hundreds of feet below, darkness enveloped the forest floor; peaceful oblivion hidden away from the eye of God.