Vision

The old man sat up, sweating, peering into the dark for something familiar. He’d just seen the end. All the world powers clashing in a futile, senseless struggle, vying for power, for control, causing great destruction while making claims of moral correctness. Yes, he’d heard those proclamations and beheld a vast struggle from above: the entire surface of the earth covered with calamity, smoke rising, cities reduced to ruins, schools and houses flattened. Things turned to ash. And in the rubble . . . 

His wife stirred beside him. “What’s wrong, honey?” she asked. She turned over to face him. 

“Nothing at all, nothing at all. Go back to sleep, dear.”

“Mmhmm . . .”

As she fell back asleep, he continued to sit there and wondered what it meant, what he should do. 

Just a dream, he told himself. 

Lying down, he managed to fall back asleep after an hour, and he dreamed again, this time that he was floating on his back in the ocean, several miles out, staring up at the empty sky, serene . . .

The next morning, he sat at the kitchen table having breakfast with his wife. 

“Why were you sitting up last night?” she asked. “You were, right? I didn’t dream that?” She smiled.

“Oh, yeah, I think it was just a bad dream. Can’t remember now. What was it . . .?” He shrugged. “I think my vision’s gotten even worse. You’re all cloudy from here. The cataracts.”

“Yes, the cataracts, that’s to be expected. Perfectly normal.” She smiled again and looked down. 

“Normal,” he said. He sipped his coffee and sighed, then noticed a cardinal, slightly blurry but brilliantly red, through the kitchen window. He watched as it flew down from a tree branch and lingered there, illuminated by the morning sun. It hung before the window long enough to be noticed and then turned away, climbing steadily back into the air until it disappeared, never to be seen by him, by anyone there, ever again.