The Art of Jessica Jane

The first thing Jessica Jane ever loved was the sound of morning.

Not birds. Not music. Not voices.

Morning itself.

She loved the way dawn stretched slowly across the farm, painting everything gold as if the sun itself had dipped its fingers into pots of honey and brushed them over the fields. She loved the way the world seemed to wake slowly, as if everything breathed together. The sky never rushed. The grass never hurried. Even the wind seemed to yawn before beginning its journey across the hills.

She loved hearing chickens complaining before they were fed, hearing sheep bleating impatiently in the distance, hearing the old wooden windmill groan and creak as if it too was waking from sleep.

Most of all, she loved hearing her father's boots.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Heavy footsteps across the wooden floorboards before sunrise.

Those boots meant pancakes.

Jessica had discovered this at the age of six and considered it one of life's greatest scientific discoveries.

The moment she heard them, her eyes flew open.

"Daisy!" she whispered loudly.

Nothing.

Her younger sister slept with one arm hanging off the side of the bed, mouth slightly open, drool soaking into her pillow.

Jessica frowned.

"Daisy!"

Still nothing.

Jessica narrowed her eyes suspiciously, then poked her hard.

Daisy's eyes shot open.

"What?!"

"Pancakes."

Daisy blinked twice.

"Pancakes?"

"Pancakes."

Within seconds both girls were sprinting downstairs.

"NO RUNNING!" their mother shouted immediately.

Too late.

Jessica missed the final step and stumbled forward with a shriek, but strong hands caught her before she hit the floor.

"Whoa there, tornado."

Jessica looked up and grinned.

Her father looked exactly as he always did in the mornings. Dark hair still messy from sleep. Blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A light dusting of flour on his cheek.

Jessica giggled.

"You've got white stuff on your face."

His eyes widened dramatically.

"Oh no. I've turned old overnight."

Daisy stared at him seriously.

"Can people do that?"

Their mother laughed softly from beside the sink where sunlight spilled through the window across her face.

"Oh sweetheart..."

Jessica's father bent down.

"I think your sister's right. Better check for wrinkles."

He pulled at his cheeks dramatically and puffed out his lips.

Jessica burst into laughter so hard she snorted.

Instantly his head turned.

"Oh that's it. No pancakes for anyone who snorts."

Jessica slapped both hands over her mouth.

"I DIDN'T!"

"You absolutely did."

Daisy pointed immediately.

"You made pig noises."

Jessica stared at her in horror.

Traitor.

Absolute traitor.

Jessica launched herself at her sister and within seconds both girls were wrestling across the kitchen floor in a mess of giggles and limbs. Their father pretended not to notice while their mother simply shook her head, smiling.

Jessica would later spend years trying to remember that smile perfectly.

The exact shape of it. The way her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. The warmth inside it.

Because some faces become treasures after they're gone.

Outside, the farm stretched for acres and acres. Fields rolled endlessly beneath bright blue skies. Horses wandered lazily beside fences. Sheep dotted distant hills like pieces of clouds that had somehow fallen from the sky.

Jessica loved every inch of it.

She loved collecting eggs with her father every morning. She loved carrying the little basket while following him around the farm. She loved feeding carrots to horses and laughing when their giant teeth accidentally licked her fingers.

She loved lying in the grass watching clouds drift by overhead.

Some looked like dragons. Some looked like castles. Sometimes they looked like giant floating sheep.

Daisy always cheated.

"That isn't a dragon," Daisy would say. "That's obviously a duck."

Jessica would glare at her.

"No it isn't."

"It has a beak."

"It's a dragon with a beak."

Daisy would roll her eyes.

Jessica always won these arguments.

At least inside her own head.

She especially loved the giant oak tree near the back field. Its branches stretched so wide they looked like giant arms reaching across the sky. Years earlier her father had hung a rope swing from one of its strongest branches.

Jessica swore she could fly on that swing.

She would kick her legs higher and higher until she felt her stomach flip.

"Look at me!" she'd scream.

Her father would pretend to panic.

"JESSICA!"

"What?!"

"You're nearly touching the clouds!"

Jessica would laugh so hard she could barely hold on.

Most of all though, she loved evenings because evenings meant stories.

Every night after dinner they sat beside the fireplace together, and every night her father told ridiculous stories. Stories about dragons stealing chickens. Stories about sheep secretly holding meetings after midnight. Stories about cows plotting world domination.

Jessica believed every single one.

Until Daisy ruined everything.

"Cows don't talk."

Jessica gasped dramatically.

"HOW DO YOU KNOW?"

Daisy frowned.

Jessica crossed her arms triumphantly.

"Exactly."

Her father winked at her.

Conspiracy protected.

The days felt endless back then.

Children always think good things last forever.

Jessica certainly did.

She thought her father would always be there. Always laughing. Always carrying her on his shoulders. Always making pancakes. Always protecting them.

She didn't know life could change in a single night. She didn't know monsters existed. She didn't know storms sometimes arrive without warning.

Outside the farmhouse windows, dark clouds had already begun gathering.

Slowly. Quietly. Patiently.

And nobody noticed them yet.