then the door was open and the wind appeared

James' momma, she always told him to be careful what he wished for. Most little boys, they would have wished anyway, being given hope that there was some type of intangible force out there that could grant the ability to make mothers hand over cookies instead of chores, or that they could make teachers forget to assign homework with the press of a remote button. But James Ford was one of the better little boys, whose mother kissed him soft on the cheek before bed and tucked him in tightly so that the monsters couldn't reach in. In return for that kindness, he nodded at her every request and did his best to make her proud of him, in the way that he always was of her. Even if it meant staying quiet when dad came back each evening, sometimes swaying and supporting himself against the walls with the deep, growling voice of a lion (the adults called that being 'drunk,' he was pretty sure), he did it.

Except that time.

That evening, as voices raised and echoed in the halls outside his parents' bedroom, James huddled underneath the mattress and held his breath very still, in the way that he imagined mice did when trying to run away from the family cat. Tiny little hands squeezed into small fists, because his momma always told him that the most important thing to do was try.

He wished that they would just stop arguing. That they'd be quiet.

the candles blew, then disappeared

They're fighting again.

My momma and my pa, they fight a lot these days. Usually pa comes home late from work, and his breath smells kind of spicy on the way home, the kind of spicy that gets to his head real quick and makes him wobble around the house like his legs ain't so good anymore. And momma, sometimes she just gets this sorry look on her face, the kind that she has when I've been bad and left my homework 'til too late. That just makes my pa angrier.

Today, pa comes back with his face all red and his eyes shining like someone lit them on fire, and he comes up the stairs in a way that makes me wonder if I'd done something wrong again, or if he's gonna spank me. Maybe he'll even hit momma, I think to myself, even if he never hit momma before and says that the worst thing a man can do is hit a woman. He told me that. That's why I don't never hit girls. 'Cause then I might grow up into a bad man.

Even momma can tell that something was real wrong, so she grabs me by my arms and takes me to her room, telling me to stay quiet and to get under the bed. I don't know if it was such a good idea, but I listen anyway. Even though under the bed is where all the monsters sleep at night.

the curtains flew, then he appeared

The metal of the gun which he gripped in his hands was cool, though it wouldn't remain that way for long. Firearms were a necessary evil. If a man was lucky, he wouldn't ever have to pull the trigger on anyone, would live a full life without knowing how gunpowder smelled or the way that a gun came to life after a shot fired, surface hot to the touch. It wasn't the type of weapon that one could use with their eyes closed, too much kick back, like it was telling the user to remember very well what he or she was doing right then. But he didn't need that reminder. No, even as his mind reeled in circles and his breath held the heavy scent of whiskey on the tip of his tongue, he knew the weight of the gun in his hand, felt his feet drag as he slowly carried himself up that staircase.

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn that he heard her speaking in hushed tones to someone. With that, he thought ruefully, it was like she was sealing her own death sentence. Not that he minded when she talked to other people. He wasn't that kind of possessive, fingers weaving through endless curls of hair, no. But he was a man, and she was his wife, and so there were certain things that any decent wife wasn't supposed to do. Maybe he could have forgiven her for transgressions, admitted that he could have been a better husband, better father, and a better man, but she had signed away all that they had to their name.

There was nothing left to build from.