The Awakening

There was a crooked man,

Who walked a crooked mile

When the snow began to fall and the first rays from the sun escaped the distant horizon, Stephen
woke up covered with sweat. He saw that his wife was still asleep and turned away from her. He began
to cry as quietly as he could, placing his hands over his face to muffle the sound. The images he had
just seen frightened him.
Why? he asked the sleeping world. He longed for an answer, but there was only the question.
He got out of bed and walked toward the window. Perhaps the fresh air would quench his appetite,
subdue his passion.
The window made a high-pitched noise as he lifted it open. He glanced over toward his wife
nervously, but she was still asleep. The wind was whistling up and down while the trees swayed and
whispered above the trickling creek. The cold air invigorated Stephen. His lungs were burning, but he
liked the pain. He was suffocating before, choking on the remnants of his dream. This was an escape,
even only for a brief moment, from his life and his desires. He leaned out the window, his naked back
began to burn from the cold and the snow, but he was too busy breathing in the fresh air to care. The
pine trees wore shawls of snow and appeared as if they too were shivering from the chill of the wind.
After a few minutes, he shut the window and walked into the bathroom to get a towel. He wiped
the water from his reddened skin. He was calm.
His wife moved in the bed, pulling the blankets over her. Stephen smiled and wondered if he
wanted to go back to sleep. He considered this until an image from his dream surfaced. His wife was
gasping, crying, and desperate to say something to the man who was choking her. Stephen never saw
the man who was murdering his wife, only the hands around her throat. The image flashed before his
eyes in an instant and was gone, but the fleeting moment was enough to cause him to feel both

unsettled and annoyed. He hadnt had these kinds of dreams for a long time, but recently they began to
become frequent again. He decided to go downstairs and make coffee.
As Stephen sat in the darkness, he wondered if Angela was aware of his night terrors. He
worried that she would wake up to find that he had left her side in the middle of the night again. He had
done this so many times recently that it was almost routine or normal, but he feared that she might feel
as if he were deserting her. If only he could tell her the reasons for why he was distancing himself, but
he couldnt discuss his dreams with her. He had never told her, and he never would. He just didnt want
her to think that his desertions were the result of her wanting another child. About a month ago, she had
confronted him with her desire.

I know I told you I was happy with just Lauren, but Im not. Ive always known I wanted two.
I dont see a reason why we cant try. We make more than enough money, and were both still young
enough to raise another child.
Stephen sat down abruptly. He was screaming in his mind, calling his wife horrible names. He
tried to subdue his anger, as he often did, but the words bitch and whore were whispers in the back of
his mind. The last time everything was so difficult. I dont want to go through that again, he said.
I know its never easy, but we can make it work. We made it work last time. Stephen raised
his hand as to silence her. Her voice reminded him of a piano key being tapped over and over again
he wanted to break the string. The last time was an awful experience. His thoughts were filled with
pictures of men and women, doctors and nurses explaining his possible sterility, his low sperm count,
his unmanliness. He hated them all for making him feel weak and broken. He would not go through
that again.
I really dont want to do this, but Ill think about it.

As Stephen sat at the table, he heard his wife coming down the stairs. He was drinking his
coffee. She leaned in the archway and turned the light on.

Why are you up so early? Its five in the morning. she said.
Stephen smiled and replied, Yeah, everythings okay. I just keep having these awful
nightmares. Is Lauren still asleep? He got up and began to make a cup of coffee for his wife.
I think so. I didnt hear her. Stephen handed her the cup, and she kissed him. I think you
need to shave. Its like kissing sandpaper.
Yeah, I know. Ill shave after my coffee. She leaned in and hugged him. Stephen looked into
his wifes eyes and knew something was wrong, knew she needed to tell him something but couldnt.
Is everything all right?
Whats wrong? I know you. Youve never been one to get up in the middle of the night. I feel
as if you want to be away from me. Angela started rubbing her hands together nervously.
No. Its just these damned dreams. Stephen couldnt tell her why he thought the dreams
began.
Do you want to talk about them? she asked. He knew he couldnt tell her he was having
nightmares about some stranger murdering her while he was helpless to stop it. He decided to make up
a nightmare.
I keep having this dream about you. The dream is always in the past. We were trying to have
Lauren, but no matter how hard we tried, we couldnt get pregnant. We kept fighting, and you grew
angry with me. Then, you had an affair. In the dream, I see you having sex with random men, men who
have no faces. You get pregnant but never tell me that Lauren isnt my child. Anyway, I wake up
sweaty and angry. I know none of its true, but I cant understand why Im having such a terrible
recurring dream?
I dont know how to react to that. What do you want me to say, Stephen? Angela grabbed the
top of her robe and held it closed, feeling slightly too exposed after Stephens declaration.
I didnt tell you because I wanted you to reassure me it wasnt true. I just needed to tell you,

tell anybody about the dreams. I needed to let you know that Im not purposely distancing myself. I
guess Im just trying to figure myself out. Stephen took a sip of his coffee and looked away from her.
Neither of them knew what to say. They had both lied and kept a secret from each other. Angela
was annoyed with herself for not telling her husband the good news, which is what her news was
good. There was nothing to worry about. At least she kept telling herself that. Still, she couldnt reveal
to her husband, whom she trusted and loved, that she was indeed pregnant. Something within her made
her withhold the truth.
Stephen pretended that he was in high spirits and relaxed, but he was writhing on the inside.
Which dream was worse? A dream that fashioned a world in which someone was evil enough to stare
into his wifes eyes while choking the life out of her or a dream where his wife was impure and
unchaste, a liar and a whore. The second dream, the one he himself had conjured, made him far more
distraught. He could not imagine a world where that was the truth, a world in which he was made a
fool, a fatherless fool. Both dreams were like stories that he had written on scraps of paper, the first
subconsciously, the latter consciously. He would be unable, however, to crumble up these ideas and
toss them out of his mind. He was powerless to erase the images he had seen, the worlds that he had
created.
He began to believe that he was an outsider of his life, as if he were watching a movie about
himself, but could do nothing but watch the scenes play out. As he watched, hed want to change little
details, butterflies is what hed call them. These butterflies were small, seemingly insignificant details
that wouldnt change much at the time but their change would have monumental consequence. It
wasnt so much that he wanted to change the past; he just wanted to control the future. However, none
of this was possible.
Their daughter, who had rushed down the stairs, interrupted his thoughts and the silence
between his wife and him. Lauren hurried over to her mothers side and clung to her.
Youre quite energetic this morning, said Angela, smiling. Stephen was slightly irritated that
his daughter did not come to his side.
I fell asleep really early last night, and I heard your voices. They woke me up. What are you

talking about anyway, she said, mid-yawn.

Angela hesitated for a moment before responding, We were talking about dreams.
Lauren got excited, letting go of her mother. I love dreams. I can do anything. I can be anyone.
Last night I was a princess. Stephen smiled, happy to see his daughter so bright, so garrulous.
Who were you, anyone in particular, like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White? he asked.
I was me. It wouldnt be any fun to be them. Theyre both asleep most of the time and thats
not really fun. Stephen looked over at his wife and gave her a wink.
I also had a bunch of unicorns. Some people think unicorns are really nice, but they can be
mean sometimes. Theyd fight each other with their horns, trying to get my attention, but all I really
wanted to do was brush them and have them be nice.
That dream seems much nicer than the kind Ive been having. Unicorns and castles and
princesses a fairy tale world would be nice. Stephen looked over at the watch on the coffee maker.
We have to start getting ready for Mass. He signaled to his wife to help their daughter get ready.
Angela grinned, put her arm around her daughter, and said, All right princess, its time that we
had our bath. Stephen listened to his daughter walk up the stairs telling his wife that she thought
church was boring, though she occasionally enjoyed singing those songs.

The Lion and the Unicorn

Were fighting for the crown

Stephen disliked church probably for the same reason his daughter did not want to go. The
sermon was half over, and all he could think about was how nice it was going to be when he could
leave. The priests speech was garbled. He could only make out certain words like peace, love,
kindness, and forgiveness. Each word had an image attached to it for Stephen.

Peace: he saw his wifes face on the day he proposed to her, and she accepted. He felt warm and
whole again in that moment. He began to remember all of the good times they shared. His wife loved
Ferris wheels, but he hated heights. Still, every time they were at a carnival or a fair, hed pretend to
enjoy the ride simply to make her happy.
Love: he recalled the first time he made love to his wife. They were both nervous and anxious
but still passionate. Although Stephen was a strong man with calloused hands, every touch was gentle.
It was fun and carefree and perfect.
Kindness: he saw his daughter in the hospital nursery. He held his hand against the big glass
window and tried to determine which child was his. The nurse helped him. There she was, his daughter.
All those months back when he felt shamed, more like a specimen than a human, made sense now. All
of the hardship led to this moment. He looked at this tiny little person that he had helped create. It was
as if all the mysteries of life were answered and subsequently forgotten in that moment of bliss. He fell
in love with his daughter.
Forgiveness: he saw his wifes face again. She was smiling and her cheeks were flushed.
Suddenly, he saw hands grab her throat and start choking her. This unexpected image startled Stephen
and caused him to have a coughing fit.
Are you all right? asked Angela.
Yeah, Im fine. Ill be right back. He raised his hand as an apology to the priest and went to
the bathroom downstairs.
His dreams were beginning to haunt him. The dreams had started about four months ago out of
nowhere. At first, they were not that bad. His wife would be yelling and throwing random things at
him. Her voice was heavily muffled so he could never make out what she was saying. Then, his
appearance in those dreams grew worse. Sometimes her lips were chapped and bloody; other times, her
body would decay and fall apart. Sometimes she looked as though she was just asleepbeautiful but
motionless. Eventually, there was an antagonist in his dreams. The man would choke her or beat her
with blunt objects; sometimes he would stab her over and over again. Stephen could always see the

attackers arms and hands but nothing else. His dreams were possible premonitions of a possible future
where someone wanted his wife dead. He couldnt figure out why, and he was desperate to see the
attackers face. If he saw the attackers face, he would be able to prevent it.
Stephen realized he was sweating. He turned on the faucet and filled his cupped hands. As he
splashed the water into his face, he saw a brief vision of his daughter drowning. He punched the mirror
in front of him, cracking it across the middle. A piece of glass had cut his index finger. It wasnt deep,
but it was about two inches long. At first, Stephen didnt feel any pain; he was worried someone might
have heard him. He opened the bathroom door, but no one was around. They were singing hymns.
He walked back into the bathroom and looked into the mirror, seeing himself for the first time.
The broken mirror divided his face. He started laughing. He began thinking of himself as two-faced.
His left eye looked to the past while his right eye looked to the future. If he were to focus them
together, perhaps he would be able to unravel the mystery of the present. He washed his hand with soap
and his finger began to sting, but he enjoyed the sensation. He felt real.
As he was drying his hands with the paper towel, he looked up and saw a stained glass
window. Even in the bathroom? The picture was of Judas kissing Jesus in Gethsemane. Why is so
much of life filled with such dark images? Beautiful fragments of glass had come to form a terrible
image, like the images within his dreams. He began to think about the relics of the church. He never
understood the crucifix. Always reminded of the death and not the life. The thoughts reminded him of
the cross he used to wear that his mother had given him. Unfortunately, he was also reminded of his
father.

Take off that damned necklace. It doesnt mean anything anymore, said his father, sternly.
But it reminds me of mom. She gave it to me. Every time I look at this cross and wear it and
hold it in my hands, I can see her. I can hear her. Shes still with me, replied Stephen, somberly.
Be a man. No mother left to coddle you. Shes dead damn it. His father leaned forward and
ripped the necklace from Stephens neck, which caused it to burn.

I hate you, he mumbled. His father, who had turned to leave, quickly turned back around.
Whatd you say, boy? he asked.
Nothing, mumbled Stephen.
Dont be a liar now. I heard you. Man enough to mumble it but not enough to repeat it, eh?
His father began to laugh. I told your mother not to coddle you, that she was raising you wrong. She
turned you into an emotional, helpless child. You act as if youre my daughter. Where is my son? His
father laughed again. Stephen couldnt respond. He sat there silent, wishing his father were dead
instead of his mother.

Stephen stared at the stained glass window and spit at it. The cut on his hand stopped bleeding.
He threw away the paper towel and went back upstairs to listen to the rest of the sermon.
The next day, Stephen went Christmas shopping with his wife while their daughter was at a
friends house. The main street in their town was lovely. The road was cobblestone, and there were all
kinds of shops, from clothing stores, to soap and candle stores, to antique stores. Stephen loved his
town. The way the world was progressing, consuming itself on consumerism, there were fewer and
fewer stores that had shop windows. His wife was still at a toy store across the street. He was walking
along until he stopped at a window and saw porcelain dolls and cups. They were set up as if they were
having tea. He walked into the store. Everything was so white. Porcelain snowflakes were hanging
from the ceiling.
Stephen was looking around for something that he thought his daughter would appreciate. He
saw all kinds of ornaments and figurines, but nothing that seemed special until he saw a collection of
carousels. Each carousel moved and played a song from its music box. The third one he looked at had
four unicorns. It was perfect.
As he held it in his hands, he debated whether or not he wanted to buy the unicorn carousel for
his daughter. Although it was expensive, he knew that she would really love how pretty the unicorns
were. Shed love that a song played as they moved. Suddenly, he had another vision. He was staring

into an open meadow filled with dead unicorns. It was snowing, gently falling on the white bloodspattered bodies. Stephen could hear something growling in the distance. He could hear it come closer
and closer until he saw what beast had done this. At first, he saw only its mane, but he knew what it
was. The lion walked toward him until it was about five feet away and stopped, sitting down. They
stared into each others eyes until the lion lunged at Stephens throat. Then, the vision was over, and he
was looking at the carousel again. He put it down and exited the store. His wife almost ran into him.
Hey, there. Almost had a collision there, she said. Stephen noticed that she had a stuffed
unicorn in a bag.
Looks like we had the same idea, said Stephen pointing to the unicorn.
Yeah, I figured she was trying to get us to get her something like this. What were you looking
at? asked Angela.
A carousel that played a song as the unicorns went around in circles, but it was really
expensive. Stephen saw his wifes expression and knew she was going to push him to buy it.
Well, we have around five hundred dollars left. Most of our shopping is done.
We dont have enough money. Look, why do you always have to go against what I say? Why
do you push me to do things that I dont want to do? said Stephen sternly.
Relax, whats gotten into you? I was just suggesting, replied Angela, who thought her
husband was being an idiot. His outburst had worried her, however. She knew that she had to tell him
about her pregnancy tonight. After she told him, everything would turn back to normal. He would no
longer be anxious about having to go through the process of having a baby. She reached out her hand
and grabbed his. Lets go home, okay? she asked.
Yeah, thats fine. Look, Im sorry for my overreaction. Im just a bit stressed out I guess. I
always am around this time of year. He lied. He didnt think he overreacted. He felt justified and now,
after lying, he felt as if he retreated from the confrontation. As they drove home, he gripped the steering
wheel as hard as he could. He tried to restrain himself from becoming violent.

As they pulled up to their driveway, his wife turned to him and said, Lauren will be home
soon. I was thinking maybe we could make snow angels and snowmen with her.
Well, why dont you do that together while I wrap some presents? asked Stephen. He needed
time to think.
Thatd be great, actually. I hate wrapping gifts.
An hour later, he looked out his bedroom window watching his wife and his daughter making a
snowmen family. As he wrapped gifts, he kept thinking that he should have bought that carousel after
all. His daughter would really love him for it. He began to remember the dreams he had been having
and the possibility he had thought up. What if I am not her father? What if its true? The question
terrified Stephen. He didnt know how hed react to a truth such as that. He began repeating in his head,
Shes so beautiful. Whyd she do this to me? As he repeated this, he watched his wife. She looked up
to the window and waved. She motioned for him to come outside. Stephen smiled. It was so difficult
for him to smile now. He turned away from the window and sat on the edge of his bed.
He had given his wife everything. Her possible betrayal vexed him. He made her a queen in his
castle. She usurped all the power he had. She controlled everything. He needed to put her in her proper
place. He started thinking about Snow White. He saw his wife in that glass casket, sleeping. Perfect.
As he sat there, thinking about his wife, preserved so beautifully, images from his dream came
before him again. He saw his wife crying and choking. He could hear her more clearly now. He made
out the word, Stop. The left hand of the assailant appeared to be wounded. The murderer's index
finger had two-inch scar. The man abruptly let go of his wife. Angela started crying, heaving. She was
terrified. She was whispered, in a hoarse voice. Why Stephen? Why? Finally, Stephen had discovered
the man that had done these terrible things to his wife these last few months.

And they all lived together,

in a little crooked house.

Are you sure? asked Stephen.

Im positive. Isnt this wonderful though? We dont have to worry about tests or any of the
things from before.
Stephen was silent for a moment, but then he smiled and said, I suppose this is a good thing. I
guess youre happy.
Angela held her breath for a moment, repressing her anger at Stephens nonchalant reaction.
Im happy. You should be too. Why arent you?
Stephen wanted to reveal to his wife that the difficulties werent the only reasons for why he
didnt want to have another child. The first time they were trying, Stephen always wondered why he
couldnt get Angela pregnant. He never thought about whether he should.
I guess this was just a bit of a surprise. I wasnt expecting it. Im happy. He reached over and
hugged his wife. She smiled up at him, and he let his worries fade. He knew what he would have to do.
His whole life he had been spinning in circles listening to other people tell him how to live his life. The
unicorns had to die; he knew that now. Perhaps he had always known, deep down, that this would have
to happen. Someone had to be the lion; why not him?
The next day while Angela was upstairs packing, Stephen grabbed a thin, sharp kitchen knife.
Lauren, who had been playing outside in the snow, rushed upstairs. He followed after her. He ascended
the stairs slowly, quietly.
He entered his bedroom. His wife was still folding clothes on her bed. A business trip was her
excuse. He crept up behind her. She turned around and surprised him.
Oh, thanks. She took the knife from him.
What? he asked, confused.

What would ever make you think you were the lion? she asked, smiling.
What? he repeated. She began to flip the knife in her hand, quickly and adeptly caught it
without cutting herself each time.
You are such a fool. Everything is symbolism and metaphor, and it's all got to be so god
damned literary. I just wanted to live a happy, quiet life, but if you want me dead, who am I to argue.
She began to stab herself over and over again, in the chest, in her stomach, along her arms. She was
laughing as she did it. Soon, she fell to the floor. Blood pooled around her.
Why'd you do this? asked Stephen, confused.
It always had to be me. I was a liar and a whore, a liar and a whore. Don't worry. I also took
care of the other unicorn.
Stephen rushed to his daughter's room. She was underneath her covers; he breathed a sigh of
relief. He walked over to her and sat on the side of her bed. He patted her head, but she felt cold. He
ripped off her blanket. She had been hollowed out. There wasn't even any blood left, just some skin; her
upper torso was intact. He rushed back to his dying wife.
I would have heard her screams. I would have heard the screams! he shouted while cradling
her.
Nope, I am quiet like an assassin. Nimble on my toes. You've seen me bowl or get ice cream in
the middle of the night. Not a creak on the steps, not a one. He pressed his wife tight to him.
Don't die. This can't be happening this isn't real.
Oh, it's real. Isn't this what you wanted? You wanted the unicorns to die. Isn't that true, Mr.
Lion? Stephen breathed deeply and began to choke. He started to shake too. Deep down he knew she
was right. Angela took one last breath and then was motionless.
My unicorns are dead. All my unicorns are dead, and I killed them; I killed them all.

What are you talking about? asked Angela. Stop talking. Just relax, the paramedics will be
here soon. Stephen didn't understand how she could suddenly be speaking.
You'll be fine; just hold on, she pleaded. He could hear his daughter crying. He closed his
eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he realized he was not in the bedroom. He was at the
bottom of the stairs.
What happened? he asked.
There was some ice and snow on the steps from Lauren. You slipped, but you will be fine,
sobbed Angela.
I feel cold. Stephen reached back and felt his skull, which was soft and wet with warm blood.
He pushed it in. It didn't hurt. It just felt out of place.
Don't leave me now. Please, God, don't let him leave me, she garbled.
Stephen had been wrong about everything. He looked about for the knife.
Where's the knife? he asked.
What knife? she murmured.
Nevermind. It's not important. First, Stephen's vision went. It wasn't dark; it was just a sort of
fuzzy gray. Then, he could only hear this buzzing sound. He felt his wife holding him, trembling. He
could taste the thick blood in his throat. He closed his eyes. Now he was in a snowy clearing at dusk. In
the nearby woods, he could hear something growling. He knew what it was. He walked forward into
the dark woods and accepted his fate.

But the crooked man melted,

which made the house straight again.

After paramedics and police were scattered around her house, Angela sat on the steps. She felt
empty and lost. Stephen's last words were terrifying and made no sense. She was sitting on the couch in
the den, near the stairs. The police were trying to talk to her, but she couldn't hear them. She was in a
daze. She happened to glance down to her right. She noticed it then. She stood up and walked over to
where it was, by the end table on the opposite side of the couch. She picked it up; it was Stephen's
knife. Her daughter had left with her parents hours ago. Angela had told her to stay in her room when
she noticed Stephen had fallen. She thought about packing Lauren into her father's car. She the last
thing she handed her was the stuffed unicorn they had gotten her a few days earlier. She was on the
verge of a dangerous epiphany when she dropped the knife and rushed over to a small garbage can and
threw up. Whatever epiphany she had been close to having was now gone forever. Her stomach hurt,
her ached, and no matter how much everyone told her to relax or that things would get better, she knew
her life had been undone. She felt her baby move, just slightly. She knew she needed to calm down so
the baby would be all right. She knew she just needed to take it one minute at time. Each minute would
add up to an hour, those hours days, those days months, and those months years.

A few months later, Lauren was shopping with her grandmother. They entered a small shop on
Main Street. Lauren, still distraught over her father, hadn't thought about him all day. The store was
ever so white, but it was beautiful. She walked very slowly in the aisles and was very careful not to
disturb anything; her grandmother had warned her. There were porcelain and ceramic dolls, houses,
cats, dolphins, mice, tea cups, plates, spoons, small sailboats, dragons, and even fairies. She was
looking at one of the fairies when her grandmother walked over to her.
What about that one, she asked, pointing to a unicorn carousel. It was marked thirty-five
percent off.
No, thanks.
I thought you loved unicorns.
No, I love faeries. Look at this one. Isn't she beautiful?

She is indeed, answered her grandmother, who took the faerie from her hands and began to
walk toward the cashier at the front of the store. Lauren excitedly followed her. They left and walked
up main street, back towards the car because it was starting to get dark. It looked like it was going to
snow soon.
Grandma, can we make snow angels later?
If it snows, dear, of course, she said, kissing her granddaughter's forehead. As they were
driving home, snowflakes began to slowly drift down from the sky. Lauren held her faerie carefully on
her lap and smiled as she watched the streets slowly become as white as the inside of the store before.
She rolled her window down slightly so she could hear the quiet crunch of the snow as it accumulated
on the ground. The wind was cold so she rolled the window back up. The wind was whistling, howling
occasionally. It didn't take her long to fall asleep; soon she was dreaming of talking mice and dancing
cats and angels made from snowflakes, but most importantly, tiny glowing faeries fluttering around and
singing all kinds of happy songs about the spring that would promptly arrive.