Then the body hit the floor.
Sophia’s frame stings with the heat of love. What an inferno it can create. She would scream but there is no one in the house that will do anything. This is not new, and there is nothing but the floor. Likewise Frank doesn’t say a word, he’s always been the quiet type.
It’s just the sounds. A constant reminder for both. This external world.
Sophia was born a very special girl, and so far continues to be. Her intelligence quotient is listed in an anomalous category. Her first strip to the classroom, she explained to the skeptics her epistemology. Some of them stopped laughing, and others started. She is getting older now, developed enough that she cannot fully and permanently contain the images to which she is related.
Frank is a very clever man, for he is Sophia’s father. He reaches down to grip the crown of her skull, and feels a life force pulsing, purple with potential. He knows of this potential, but he yet remains trapped in this dungeon. These walls. There is always a way out. He tells himself this, lifting her up just to throw her back down again.
Then the body hit wall.
Frank knows, as Sophia knows, that he identifies in a different kind of way.
Helen married Frank, all that time ago. A woman never feels as complete as she does on her wedding night, and hers was a perfect. Their union was like two halves of a brain -- one person. She was drunk all night though she never had a glass. She’s always been intoxicated with him. She always will be.
When they first met, he was an athlete; a dream, really. He would get out of the shower and swoop her off of her feet. He would hold her so tight. Frank planned it all out: the future, her career. He does all the taxes, as he is a lawyer now. Often Helen will watch him late at night as he works in his office. The lamp illuminates his serious face with its soft heavenly glow. He sometimes looks up, reaching out his hand to her. She knows he will protect her, but forever she is waiting for a vacation to the mysteries which flurry the butterflies in her stomach. Her, the explorer, and he, the guide.
The Wilbers live on a fairly safe, family street. It is near a school, and there is also a park down the street. You don’t see the police around here too much, in the suburbs, but still you know that they are near if things get dire. There are neighborhood watch signs. People care.
The Wilbers are known for throwing barbecues. Nothing crazy, and definitely not loud. Just some friends. An educated group that will discuss the dynamics of life. Such people are happy, productive, with dark circles under their eyes.