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He thought it must be a crime when he
saw her. It was the way she was dressed, black spandex and a blouse
that appeared at first glance to be made of feathers. Deep russet the
color was but he couldn't help but to think of her as a bird, bright
and small so he called her Canary.

“I still don't believe you fell in
love with me on the day we met,” she said on their wedding night
more then two years into the future. She admired the shape of his
face in the blue light of the hotel room. He hugged her deeply and
told her once again that it was true. Canary fidgeted with the love
she knew she had and let her thoughts wander to the future. The
children they would have and the home that they would make together.
They would go to church weekly until their youngest was a teenager
ridden with angst that they wouldn't be able to see and then they
would begin slowly to feel free again.

Of course it wouldn't be all cream and
peaches. There would be the affair he would have, a women he met at
the office and then later at the health club. She would also discover
that seaweed didn't cure cancer and felt the true meaning of pain
when it had to be cut from her body.

And there was the accident, a dark
night on a highway that had been pelted with rain. He was too eager
to hurry home did not see the water upon the pavement until it was
too late. And from one moment her happy family had been ripped and
shredded by the tree planted next to the roadway to make it more
beautiful. She would sit crying with the body of a child in her lap
unable to do anything to stop the pain it would feel as it died.

He would simply clutch her body
tighter, burying his face into her breasts as he recoiled from this
knowledge. Surely to know such things would be criminal.