Paradise - John Fetto

Hawley wouldn’t be happy in paradise, Johanna’s uncle said. He’d find something to complain about. The angels weren’t flying right or there feather looked fake. The pearly gates were too ostentatious or the white marble hurt his eyes. He just wouldn’t be happy wherever he was and Johanna’s uncle would be happy if walked out and never came back.

Hawley could hear them talking, even when they weren’t there. He’d sit in the kitchen, by himself, sipping coffee, looking out at the birds and flowers in Johanna’s mother’s garden, knowing it wasn’t for him. He’d sit inside looking out, like a visitor who knows he must leave, and savors the last few moments before he goes. They’d stop laughing when he was gone, he’d tell himself, but he never heard anyone agreeing with him.