Sunshine
Devon hated days like these. Wet and slippery, with air so thick it could choke you with invisible hands. The rain in Washington State was insufferable for a man like Devon, who needed sunshine to brighten his physical world. So much for that, he thought grumpily as he shrugged off his rain jacket after entering his warm home. His mood brightened, however, when his two little girls ran gleefully to their father, each wrapping their arms around one of his legs.
Devon could never get enough of his beautiful girls, Molly and Elane. His daughters were identical twins, apart from a dark freckle behind Molly's left ear; hardly noticeable to a stranger, the sort of thing only a parent could see. Both heads of dirty blonde hair were bobbing with excitement that their father was now home, and both began babbling at once about a fort they had made and wanted to show him.
"Mummy helped us build it, but-" Molly began.
"-she's been in the kitchen, cooking and cooking and cooking,-" Elane interrupted her sister.
"-so you have to help us get her into the fort, Daddy!" Molly finished for Elane. It was a twin thing, both Devon and his wife had decided when the twins began finishing each other's sentences the moment they could form one.
"Oh, alright, go hide in the fort where you can surprise her," Devon said as he knelt down to look his daughters in the eye, excitement tracing his own.
Both eight-year-olds giggled and made a run for the fort, being careful not to attract their mother's attention, who was cooking in the kitchen. Devon smiled, grateful for his daughters' carefree nature and their ability to make him forget about the rain pounding onto the window panes of their little home. He made his way into the kitchen, and was instantly wrapped in a delicious aroma that he recognized, but couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. As if to read his thoughts, his wife turned from the oven and smiled in his direction.
"I'm making chicken marsala. I know the rain depresses you, so I thought that I'd make one of your favorite dishes for dinner tonight," she smiled at her husband.
"You know me too well, Emma," Devon grinned and kissed her cheek. "Oh, I believe the girls have something to show you," he said, a smirk donning his face.
Emma looked suspicious, but didn't object when Devon took her hand and led her into the living room. They could hear the girls' giggles, but played along anyways.
"Oh, I wonder where Elane and Molly could be?" Emma said dramatically.
"Momma, we're in the fort, but-" Elane began.
"You have to come inside to see us!" Molly finished.
"I wonder what is waiting for me inside..." Emma mused playfully, ducking inside a fort of blankets and pillows, where she was ambushed by soft couch pillows. She laughed and threw them back lightly at her daughters. Devon smiled, then noticed the Washington Post that Emma had probably read earlier laying on the coffee table next to the couch. He picked it up, reading the date of April 3rd, 2046. His eyebrows knitted together as he read the title in huge, bold print.
"324 ARRESTS FOR VIOLATION OF LEGISLATION 29.
HAS LAW ENFORCEMENT GONE TOO FAR?"
The article ridiculed Washington police for arresting citizens who had only violated the law by accident. More elderly than anyone were arrested, for having grown up using phrases like, "Hallelujah!" and "Oh my God!" or the Muslims', "Praise Allah!" It was sad, really; schools and government politics had gotten too biased on the base of religion, so Congress unified to eradicate the use of religion in daily life. Devon's heart ached at the thought of elders being thrown in jail for using phrases that they said nearly every day in their youth.
Then Devon was being ambushed in three different directions, the newspaper flying out of his hands. He laughed, forgetting the article for a moment, and began whipping them back at his wife and daughters. It was a wonder that anyone heard the doorbell, with all the laughter and thwaps of a pillow meeting its target.
Devon bounded down the hall to the front door with a spring in his step and a grin plastered to his face. It didn't occur to him to look out the peek hole and see who their visitor was. A cheery looking man in a plain, tan suit with some sort of gold badge over his breast pocket greeted him, and allowed himself inside the moment Devon unlocked and opened the door.
"Hello, sir, hello, I'm Mr. Tweed, Head of Washington Law Enforcement, pleasure to meet you Mr. Keals." Mr. Tweed, his Head of Department badge shining, shook Devon's hand enthusiastically, and walked past him into the living room, leaving Devon with his mouth agape.
Mr. Tweed's happy demeanor immediately fell when he waltzed into the room, pillows strewn everywhere and the twins still throwing some at each other, giggling madly. They dropped their pillows and bowed their heads out of respect when they saw Mr. Tweed. Emma stood from her spot on the couch and rose her hand to greet the tan-suited man, but he merely stared at her before opening his mouth.
"Surely this is not how one is expected to raise a family, Mrs. Keals. Are you sure you're qualified to be a mother?" Mr. Tweed asked, scrutinizing Emma. She gasped and brought her hand back to her side. But before she could open her mouth, Devon snapped out of his surprised state and stomped into the room.
"How dare you talk to my wife that way? She is nothing but good to these girls; she's their mother, for goodness sake!" Devon roared at Mr. Tweed, pointing a finger in his direction. "I don't know what on earth your business is here, but if you're only here to insult my wife, then I'm going to ask that you leave," Devon said firmly, wrapping an arm around Emma's shoulders.
"Well, I came here to speak to you about your daughters," Mr. Tweed said, speaking as if Devon had never opened his mouth. Devon rubbed his temples, then gestured toward the kitchen.
"Take the girls upstairs," he murmured to his wife once he thought Mr. Tweed was out of earshot.
Apparently he wasn't, because he said, "Oh no, Mr. Keals. Keep them with your wife-" he spit out, as if it were a dirty word, "-in that room. I want to speak to the girls after."
Devon stormed into the kitchen, about to tell Mr. Tweed off when something stopped him. Mr. Tweed had a P220 Match gun, more than likely academy-issued, on the kitchen table, pointed in his direction.
"I would appreciate your full attention, without any interruptions, Mr. Keals. Sit down," Mr. Tweed motioned to the chair across from him. Devon sat down slowly, hesitant as he stared at Mr. Tweed.
"As you know, it is illegal for any member of the United States to speak about religion, or any form of practicing it. History dictates that religion became far too intricate in politics and such, so it was illegalized by Congress. You remember, don't you? It was about eight years ago."
Devon remembered it, alright. In 2038, the government made things very difficult for people everywhere. For uttering any word about God, Allah, the Buddha, or any religious deity you would be sent to a correctional facility for two years, and pay fines that could finance a student's college tuition.
"And? To my understanding, I've never spoken a word of the subject you speak of. Neither has my wife, or my girls," Devon said confidently.
"Quite the contrary, Mr. Keals. During class yesterday- here, I have it on record from a witness-" Mr. Tweed slid a piece of paper across the table to Devon, "-Elane and Molly each spoke the illegal phrases, "Oh my God," and "I swear to God," respectively."
Then the realization that his girls were going to be taken away from him hit Devon, and sunk in as he stared at the typed account. His eyes only saw the names of his daughters and their alleged crime.
"But they are only eight years of age! Surely they cannot be punished! They did not know any better!" Devon cried in their defense.
"Did you teach them of the law? Did you tell them the consequences? Because if not, then it is your own fault," Mr. Tweed accused.
"How am I supposed to teach them the laws if I were to be arrested for explaining it to them? I've never spoken the words, and neither has Emma. Perhaps before the law was passed, but after the girls were born, we stopped because the law was passed when they were about a month old," Devon spoke firmly, attempting to reason with Mr. Tweed.
"Regardless, they spoke the words, and now there will be a punishment. Since they are still minors, we will send them to the Washington Junior Correctional Facility for three months each." Mr. Tweed checked his watch. "In fact, they should be on their way there now."
"What?" Devon jumped from his seat and bolted into the living room. Emma was on the floor, hugging one of the pillows to her chest. Her face was tear-streaked, and a large bruise was forming on her cheek where someone's hand had created a red handprint on her face.
"Elane…Molly…" Emma sobbed, clutching Devon as he helped her up. The whole scheme donned on him. Devon turned to Mr. Tweed, who had entered the room.
"But I didn't hear anything!" He yelled, frustrated and angry with himself and Mr. Tweed. Mr. Tweed pulled a small, pen-shaped device out of his breast pocket.
"Noise-jamming device. I didn't want to make it any harder for you than it had to be, plus we didn't need your interference. We should technically arrest your wife for resisting, but I'll let that one slide."
Mr. Tweed walked out of the house, leaving Devon and Emma to wallow in the grief of losing their sunshine.