SPILLED MILK GOES GOOD

He can still see her smile every time he thinks of her. The way she bit the bottom of her lip on one side as if she had some conscience thought that she was anything but perfection.
The blood; so much blood. It took away from his excitement and comfort of their four bedroom house.

She was perfect for him. With her every breath he felt himself exhaling, when she exhaled, he'd find himself inhaling. 

They were each other's bookend. They completed the shelve and complimented the literature between them. Who could ask for anything more? 

Their children were of immaculate beauty. Her eyes, his strength and their loving ways combined into one magnificent creation. 

He shivered when he remember the night. The night the milk had gone sour. He had just arrived home from his boring flight thirsting for knowledge and tenderness. 

Oh, such a beautiful house it was. 10 acres of wilderness as wild as they were. Hunter green and fire red as autumn slowly approached. 

Not being able to shake the sight from his mind, he stumbles along.

The leaves he glanced to look at were of a deep red, reminding him again of all the blood.
Going nowhere particular, for it wouldn't matter now. The only love he's know is gone and somehow so are their children.
How could this happen? They believed in good morals. They worshipped the planet and everything in it.

"We were good people, damn it," he yelled as he trudged further into the wilderness.
Just then he shoved his hands into his pockets and felt something like a glossy piece of paper. A picture of all the family together sitting around a campfire just a few metre away from where he stood.
Oh no, the ground... where's the ground? He couldn't feel the ground.

"I took a step to far. I should have been paying attention. Where am I?" he yelled, as he slowly descended into what appeared to be a great canyon.

Tending to people's needs that they didn't know and may never see them again. 

"I don't know what I'm suppose to do to make this better, to bring them back. How to I see my family again if I can't do magic?" 

As it grew darker, the further he fell, he heard his name being called.

"Who? Who is that?" he stuttered.

"It me, of course," said the familiar voice in an inquiring way. "What's with you? Why are you laying there with the fridge wide open? You even managed to spill the milk."

That voice got him bolting upwards. "You're alive! Thank goodness you're alive."

He now realized the combination of being exhausted and the smell of sour milk knocked him out cold in front of the refrigerator .

"What a way to wake up," he thought. "The most delightful wake up call of my life. Spilled milk and all."