If Daniel Johnson was an artist, he thinks that he would paint the insides of his mind, hanging pictures of his painful memories nobody would think to look at, so that when he would die – the paintings could be uncovered and displayed against his bones in a glorious appreciation of his death. And maybe a way to bring his daughter back to him. 

Just outside the house was a raging storm, the lightning acting as a furious vein of fire pulsing through the storm’s heart. Meanwhile, inside the intimate home, the fireplace crackled, casting dancing shadows on the walls revealing bookshelves that have not felt the touch of a person in many moons, and wool blankets draped over ancient armchairs. Each small corner of the living room seemed to stand out in their own ways, bringing a feel of closeness and warmth. 

The owner of this residence – Daniel Johnson. A forty-two year old man, his only wife who had become deceased whilst giving birth to their daughter: a beautiful young girl who tragically disappeared on July 1st of 2018. Not a day goes by that Daniel doesn’t yearn for his daughter with an ache that pierces through him, a visceral feeling he cannot escape. 

Tonight was an ordinary night, aside from the fact the electricity was out. Power cuts in rural areas like these were more common than in the city, but it was still a nuisance to deal with every time. Throughout the late hours of the night, the thunder continued to crack like bones snapping in the distance. 

Then, through the pounding of rain and the roll of thunder, came a sound that didn’t belong:

A knock.

Sharp. Deliberate. Three times. 

Daniel was bewildered to say the least: who would be knocking at two in the morning? With heavy reluctance, he arose from the sofa positioned in front of the fireplace and got up to open the door. 

Upon opening it, he was hit with the feeling of the storm surging in like a wave. Wind howled past him, flinging rain sideways into the hallway and chilling the warm air inside. Lightning tore across the sky in a jagged, blinding streak, illuminating the twisted silhouettes of trees bent under the storm's weight. 

Contrary to the harsh weather, right in front of him, however, was a girl. 

She couldn’t have been more than 11, or 12 years old and here she was; standing out in the heavy rain, with nothing more than a thin raincoat shielding her from the harsh weather. Immediately, Daniel’s first instinct was to invite her in — ask where her parents are in order to locate them. This young girl had no reason to be wandering so late at night. 

“Where’s your parents?” The man asked, his words soft as they flowed effortlessly as if hand-sculpted with care. 

The girl looked down at her worn-out shoes, “dunno…” she mumbles so faintly that Daniel would’ve missed it if he hadn’t leaned in to hear her. 

“Well… you best come in. You can phone your parents here.” He moves aside, allowing her in as she takes a glance around, no doubt feeling a sudden air of warmth and comfort. Daniel closed the door behind her as he led her to the sofa, “so, why are you here, alone?” 

Once the pair are settled on the couch, the girl replies in a small voice, anxious and frightened: “I- I got lost.” 

It’s only then when the flames from the fire begin igniting higher – casting a gentle orange glow on the girl’s porcelain-looking face that Daniel begins to notice the youth on her skin and how it doesn’t match with the old pain in her eyes. 

“Can you tell me your name?” 

“Lusina.” 

It was simple: a pretty name with a ring to it. Daniel almost could’ve sworn it meant something – but that was irrelevant as of now. His main priority was to help this girl find her way back home. He knew that her parents would probably be worried sick, the feeling of their child away from home without any way to reach them was plaguing their dreams. 

He grins softly, “my name’s Daniel, Daniel Johnson.” 

At this, the girl smiles, her eyes lighting up in recognition: “I’ve heard of you! You wrote ‘_Whispers In The Void’, _the one with the man whose wife gets kidnapped and he hears the voices of her.” 

Daniel laughs. “That book might’ve been a bit too old for you.” 

“I’m an old soul,” she says cheekily, “no, seriously I loved that book, it was really good and it made me cry.” 

“I’m honoured.” 

Lusina’s eyes were tinted with a quiet ache of blue; shimmering with the weight of years Daniel didn’t know of. Her cascading chestnut waves of hair remained loose and flowy despite the outside rain, having drenched her whole. 

There was something particularly peculiar with Lusina. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing… just different. Daniel knows all about being different. He was born weird. 

The man always has tried to change, always tried to feel okay. But he’s never been, and it isn’t right, it isn’t right how he can lay flat on his back at night. It isn’t right that when he strains his neck and reaches for his back – there is nothing but flesh. Bones and flesh. Bones, skin and flesh. Nothing that feels like silk. Nothing that trembles and tangles like it’s ethereal. 

In some sort of idiosyncratic way, Daniel feels like a child. He feels like a child who’s always hungry. They’re never satisfied with the largest of foods being put in front of him because once, a long time ago, he had tasted something divine. And so his lips still remembered the sweetness of years long passed. He was never going to stop crying out, never stop feeling complete until he got to relish in that sweetness again. 

Daniel was never going to feel complete again until he got his family again. 

“How did you get lost? You look far too young to be roaming by yourself.” He says to Lusina, his voice etched with concern. 

Her smile disappears, any remains of a slightly happy child, gone. “I don’t remember. I was going to walk to the front garden and check if we got any mail. Next thing I knew… I was walking and walking. I couldn’t stop. I was drawn to the moon.” 

“Drawn to the moon?” Daniel asks, a frown carved into his face. 

“Drawn to the moon: I was following it.” 

It was the most childish idea Daniel had ever heard of. The moon never moved, you couldn’t follow it – it was all down to perspective. 

“What do you mean you couldn’t stop walking?”

Lusina met his gaze before dropping it down to her lap, an air of uncertainty between the two: “it felt wrong to stop. It felt like the only way was forward, like with every step, I was closer…” 

Daniel sat a bit closer to the edge of the sofa, “closer to what?” 

She shook her head, leaning back: “I shouldn’t have come.”

“You shouldn’t have. Your parents would be worried sick,” he smiled sadly at Lusina, “but you’re here now. So we should work on getting you home.” 

She looked as if she was about to nod before she opened her mouth: “Do you believe in God?” She blurts out, almost accidentally. 

Daniel sits further back on the couch as he pauses momentarily, “do you?” he asks, avoiding the question. He knew young children were more likely to open up if the adult had the same view as they did: he learnt that from experience, his daughter. It was almost humorous how people say kids are only meant to learn from parents, as they did need to act as the stable rock in their lives. The anchor that brought them back to the safety of the shore if they swam out too deep. However, Daniel didn’t feel like this at all. He knew, deep down, he had learnt more from his daughter, than she had ever learnt from him. 

He was a rubbish dad after all. 

“I do. I think there has to be someone who was so… powerful that they designed this world so perfectly.” Lusina says, a small smile on her face.

He _almost_ wants to ridicule this belief, asking if God really was so perfect and powerful, why did his daughter and beloved wife both desert him? Why did they both leave him in his flesh prison? 

But he does not. He bites his tongue back. 

“Do you think God lets people grow wings in heaven?” 

Daniel doesn’t reply immediately. The notion of a “God” seemed so nonsensical to him. How could he believe in an omnipotent, and omnibenevolent being when all he had ever felt was loss? The feeling of loss and sorrow hugged him through the tiresome nights, murmuring soft words that were low in volume, but contrastingly harsh in meaning: ‘_they won’t come back_.’, ‘_it’s because of you_.’, ‘_take their place… join them_.’

“If they want wings, yes, I’m sure God will give them whatever they might like.” He replies, the words sounding foreign to his own ears, orchestrated. 

“I want wings. I can’t wait to have them.” she says, a sort of childish innocence clung to her words. 

“Why would you like wings, Lusina?” 

“I could fly up above everybody on Earth and look down at my dad and my mum. They’d be happy to know I was keeping them safe – I think.” 

He smiled, “That’s beautiful. I’m sure they would like that very much.” 

“Would you like wings, Daniel?” 

He thought for a moment: it was nearly comical how he was entertaining this juvenile notion of being able to grow wings. “No.” 

“Why not?” 

_Because I’m already chained to the ground – the familiarity of the soil is forever ingrained in my head. The same soil and dirt they once walked on. I’m already chained to the dead weight of grief. _“Because I’d rather have the powers of teleportation.” 

Lusina grins. “Why would you want teleporting powers if you’re a ghost?” 

He looks at the young girl with a mock stern tone, “hey! I thought I told you God gave us whatever we wanted?”

She lets out a small giggle and Daniel’s eyes soften at the sound of it. Her child voice was high and sweet, a contrast to his aching adult voice. But it made Daniel ache as if he was an instrument somehow tuned to the same frequency as Lusina’s tenor – he loved it. For one moment, the inevitability of life continuing after Lusina finds her family doesn’t feel so crushing, and he would like to exist here forever. It’s a fatuous notion, wanting to wrap himself up in one moment and hide away from the world, but he can’t shake the urge. 

“Do you have a family? She asks without a second thought. It reminded Daniel about the innocence of children automatically assuming everybody had a good family. 

Lusina notices a flash of pain cross the man’s face before it sinks back beneath his skin, but it lingers long enough to warrant an apology: “I.. I didn’t mean to make you sad. I’m sorry.” 

He shakes his head, letting out a shaky breath. Despite how years had passed since the passing of his daughter, and even longer since the passing of his wife – he still could not get over it. 

It was his fault. 

“It’s okay. But, I _did_ have a family.”

“Did? Where did they go?” She questions, almost afraid of his answer. 

“I had a wife. She was the love of my life: had the prettiest chestnut curly hair, and the most beautiful eyes,” he admits, “I had a little girl too. She was about your age, maybe a bit older? Cute as a button and the sassiest girl I had ever met.” He chuckled, reminiscing about his child.