He had existed for thousands of years; had been a doctor, a soldier, a teacher. A better man than I. In the end, I couldn’t drive the stake.
They told the little ones stories. “Four seasons,” they say, “we had four seasons.” Their little eyes marvel at the dream of spring.
One night they learned how to fly away from their bodies. Traveling far, they easily forgot the way home. Oh, the places they go.
She looked up into the night and whispered quietly, “With all the stars in the sky, why do we only wish on the ones that fall down and die?”
“She…she won’t feel a thing,” she begs. “We need this, Midi…”, she trails off. Midas sighs and rests his hand on the sleeping baby.