shining knights
Moses had to get good, because nobody else was. And that night he'd come home from work to find Monica having tucked herself in bed, reading a story aloud—had broken his heart. He'd insisted, even though she very kindly observed that he looked dead in the water and had to get up early, remember? He'd shrugged and sat on the floor alongside her bed, with a spare teddy bear in hand, looked at the opposite wall.
A little girl's dresser. Filled with poorly matched clothing in overwhelming shades of pink. Less poorly matched these days, since Ming-Ming had a credit card. But that wasn't immediately important—what was important, was he had to make something up. Five minutes of expectant silence, and Monica had mercifully handed him a storybook.
He'd become determined.
They exhausted her supply of books after a week. But by then Moses was well versed in the architecture of the modern fairytale. So he declined suggestions he sleep, declined the storybooks, and began a story he'd thought up that day during his lunch break…
Monica had fallen asleep, lulled by her big brother's voice, a smile on her face.
And Moses had never been more proud.