Fiction: Serenity

Serenity

Richard cried in slumber. His wife, moving closer, pressed her body into his from behind. She woke him gently and said, “Richard, let’s recite the Serenity Prayer.” She clutched his hand. Richard groaned, turning. He didn’t want to recite. He wanted to go back, fear-wrought by dreams. “What are we going to do, Sal?” he said. He couldn’t tell through the dark if she was looking at him. He wanted her to pull his head to her breasts, to stroke his hair, to say, “We’re in this together. Everything’s going to be fine. If all else fails, we can pack up our things and move the kids to Arizona. I hear it’s cheaper out there.” That is all; he thought about paying a whore to say it, nothing seedy just his cheek held to that warm skin below her neck. Instead his wife said, “Richard, let’s talk about the Eighth Step.”

~ By Adrian Shirk ~