February

Issue 29

    Crickets chirped in the fields, and somewhere a whip-poor-will sang a melancholy love song to the new moon.  John leaned against the back of the swing, his hand twined gently with his wife's.  Stars twinkled merrily above them.  
    "It's hard to believe it's been thirteen years already," Mary said, laying her head against his shoulder.  
    "I know," he said.  "Do you ever regret marrying me?" he asked, kissing her.  
    "Never," she said, kissing him back.  A bright light caught their attention; like a shooting star falling too low, it streaked down from the sky and disappeared into their fields.  
    "What was that?" Mary asked, a little frightened, but much more curious.  
    "I don't know," John said.  He moved to the door and took down the gun that hung above it, just inside, ready when needed.  "I'm going to go find out, though."  
    "I'm coming with you," Mary declared firmly.  John knew that tone of voice; he didn't even bother arguing.  
    "Stay behind me," he warned.