James Paine stood in the sunlight. He flexed his tanned calves and biceps and pushed shaggy blond hair from his thin face. In his hand, he gripped a striped ball. His long fingers clung to the textured material, reaching nearly halfway around. He narrowed his eyes and glared down the field at his opponent, who was hunched over with his hands forward. A breeze flowed through and a crowd cheered.
James drew back the ball. His arm muscles bulged. In a blur of color, his arm snapped forward and the ball whistled through the air toward his son. A boy of seventeen, Zidaiku Paine leapt into the air and wrapped his arms around the ball. He rolled to the grass and jumped back up, holding the ball tightly against his chest. When he realized he had caught it, he held it high in the air and shouted.
Another gust of wind rattled the trees, and the crowd of leaves cheered for Zidaiku.
James clapped. “Nice catch, son! Toss it back!”
Zidaiku threw the ball to his father, but it drifted too high. James kept his eyes on it while he turned and dove for the catch. Mid-jump, the ball landed in his hand. But when he crashed to the ground, he felt something crush beneath his arm and liquid splashed onto it.
“James!” Sarah Paine laughed, sitting cross-legged a foot away. Her thick, dark hair bounced in time with her shoulders. “You just crushed your lemonade!”
“Looks like I have,” James agreed. He rose to his feet and examined his wet arm. “Did I get any on the blanket?”
She pulled it closer to her. “Nope… looks like it’s dry.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Zidaiku said as he approached them. “Bad throw, on my part.”
James put an arm around his son’s narrow shoulders. “It happens to all of us, son. Besides, we’ve got plenty more lemonades where that one came from. Right, honey?”
Sarah smiled at them. “I’m so glad to see you two are having fun. This was a great idea, James.”
“How could we resist coming to the park on a day like today?” James asked. He took a deep breath. “The sun is shining, the air is clean… It’s a perfect day for a picnic with the family. Am I right?”
Sarah turned to her five-year-old daughter, whose hair shone as brightly as fire. “Honey, could you get Daddy another lemonade, please?”
“Okay, Mommy.” The girl reached her hand into the cooler and retrieved a drink, which she awkwardly handed to her father.
“Thank you, sweetheart!” James took the drink, but he set it down on the grass and picked up his daughter instead. He lifted her up in his arms and spun her around. She giggled and shrieked.
“Don’t be too rough with her,” Sarah warned.
“It’s okay, Mommy!” the girl said as she spun. “Daddy’s strong!”
James smiled. “That’s right! I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, no matter what!”
Another boy, this one a toddler, pulled on Sarah’s shirt. “I hungry,” he said. His blue eyes were full of sincerity and pleading.
Sarah pulled him onto her lap. “You’re hungry, huh? Maybe it’s about time we get out the food.” She turned to James. “What do you think, honey?”
James set down his daughter and nodded. “I think he’s got the right idea! Zidaiku, why don’t you run over to the car and grab the picnic basket?” He tossed a ring of keys to him. “It should be in the back.”
“Sure thing, Dad.” Zidaiku jogged to the car, smiling with anticipation. He found the basket and locked the doors behind him before walking back toward the grass. Cautiously, he lifted one of the basket’s flaps and peered inside at the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and bags of potato chips.
A cold wind brushed his arm. He looked toward its origin. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky and moving toward them. In the distance, a thunderclap rumbled. “A storm? Coming on so suddenly?” he mumbled. “Strange…”
He turned toward his family and opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Lying on the grass were his family members, but their only movement was the wind blowing through their hair and clothes. “D-dad? Mom?” Zidaiku called.
They didn’t answer.
He dropped the picnic basket and rushed toward them. As he stepped onto the grass, the life drained from it, leaving only yellow rings around his footsteps. He passed by a tree, and the bark became grey and flaky. Leaves fell from their branches and sliced against Zidaiku’s skin as they drifted past.
He reached his family. All four of them were heaped on the grass, immobile, with their faces against the ground. Even the youngest son’s body lay completely still. Zidaiku stooped down next to his father and gently prodded his shaggy head. A string of wet blood clung onto his finger as he pulled it away.
Zidaiku jumped back. His heart pounded in his chest. “What’s going on?” he asked aloud. “Dad… I only turned away for a few seconds!”
“Your father is dead.”
Someone approached him from the side. Zidaiku spun and met a boy his age with black hair and dressed in dark clothing. The wind swept his hair to the side, revealing deep-set violet eyes. Something about the boy’s face made Zidaiku peer closer.
“Dead?” Zidaiku asked. “But… that’s impossible! How could they…” He looked down at the boy’s arms. They were covered in blood.
“You want this life, but you can’t have it,” the boy said, raising his voice over the howl of the wind. “Your family is gone.”
“It was you! You did this!” Zidaiku shouted. “Who are you? And why do you look like me?”
“This is your reality, Zidaiku!” the boy replied. “Accept the truth!”
“Answer me!”
Zidaiku swung his fist, but he lost his balance and toppled forward. He raised his arms against the fall, but no impact came. He fell through the air toward the yellow grass, spinning through empty space while the storm came over him and thunder filled his ears.
Then everything faded and a voice called to him.
“Zidaiku,” it said. “Wake up. It’s time for work.”
