“My godmother used to say that pro-life advocates are like superheroes: they protect the weakest among us from forces beyond our control.”

Ellie Endsley is standing, wrapped in a robe, typing thoughtfully at a tall, ornate desk. From the honorable Herman “Vitch” Avromovitch’s corner suite on the 45^th floor, she can see the sun beginning to rise east of Austin.

Whenever Ellie looks away from the screen, her workstation dims the display, leaving the room in relative darkness, save the soft glow of status lights on the dozens of digital devices that are crammed into Vitch’s cluttered bedroom.

Ellie sips her green tea and watches the pink of the rising sun touch the dome of the Capitol.   If she didn’t have so many things to say this morning, she would have settled herself down to breathe mindfully and watch the sun rise. But the pain in her hips reminds her that she has so much to say, and very little time to say it.

As she looks back to her keyboard, the display illuminates, and the forum in which she is posting comes to life again:

“But my godmother grew angry when pro-lifers were casual in their regard for people with shitty lives,” Ellie types. “I mean, really angry, like some ancient queen furiously laying down the law. She could never abide people who willingly ignored the lives that they helped force into this world. If you convince a mother to bring her child into the world – my godmother would rant – you should be held responsible for that life’s sustenance, comfort and satisfaction.”

Ellie hears Vitch groan, and she stops typing. The bedroom’s white noise generator is no match for the sudden rush of blood pounding in her ears. She stands absolutely still, waiting for additional signs that he will wake.

If he wakes, it won’t be the end of the world, Ellie knows, but she’ll be disappointed. It took her years to convince him to stop sleeping with a pistol under his pillow, and when he finally stopped, she promised to stay the night with him more often, despite the fact that his presence in the morning sometimes disrupts her cherished morning routine. Ellie smiles as she turns her head and sees his naked belly swelling with breath.

His shriveled penis and hairless thighs are uncovered, and she feels the urge to cover him. But she remains still, knowing that it would be foolish to brush his genitals with the sheet.

When she is sure that he is soundly asleep, she turns back to her keyboard to finish her thought.

“Every night I pray that we will win in our efforts to make is easer for same-sex couple to adopt unwanted children. Advocates for life need to be part of the solution – to help provide a healthy life for everyone around us. In turn, our community surely will build more healthy families capable of taking in and nurturing babies who can’t be raised by their biological parents. Healthy, educated neighbors make for a bigger, better neighborhood capable of sustaining the human traditions of survival, longevity, art, spirituality, and enlightenment.”

Ellie rereads her words several times before reluctantly submitting her comment. Her father was the source of the ideas that she attributed to her fictitious godmother, but Ellie knows that the participants in this forum are mostly women, and they tend to be swayed by women’s words. She is aware that her reluctance to engage in hyperbole and creative non-fiction puts her in the minority among this forum’s participants, so she forgives herself for lying.

For a moment she is tempted to scroll through the other discussions in which she’s participated this week, but the hour is growing late, and Vitch is sure to wake at any moment.

She touches a button that logs her out of the workstation, and she looks up to see that the pink morning light has been replaced by a fiery red that is spreading across the surface of Lady Bird Lake, like some life-changing, ecological phenomenon.

She breathes mindfully and lets herself get lost in the scene outside, until she finally hears the sure signs that Herman is awake:

He groans again, and turns from one side to the other. Then, with a deep, sigh, he rolls onto his back and spreads his arms across the bed. His breathing becomes deep and regular again, as it always does when he prays in the morning.

When he finally sits upright, every digital device in the room comes to life. The room is immediately awash in sound, light and data coming in from every corner of the globe. News, updates on investments, and reminders about appointments that will occur later that afternoon form a garbled symphony that only he can understand.

“Good morning,” she says. Her robe has fallen open slightly, but she does not make an adjustment.

“What’s good about it?” he mumbles. He points to the large monitor on the wall across from the bed. “I lost eight-hundred thousand dollars on that biotech firm I told you about.”

Ellie smiles. “Good morning,” she coaxes patiently.

Vitch is sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, fighting the urge to lay down again.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Good morning.”

Vitch stands and goes into the bathroom to urinate. “You have anything big on the calendar today?”

“I’m meeting with Jim Cates this morning,” she responds as she makes the bed. “We have to get ready for the event on Thursday.”

“Great,” he responds. “You’ll mention the idea that I shared with you?”

Ellie picks up her mobile and sets a reminder to tell Cates about Vitch’s offer. “Uh-huh,” she responds while she types.

“Is the weather suitable for a walk around the lake?” Vitch asks when he reemerges from the bathrrom. Their morning walks had been disrupted at least twice a week for the last month. They hadn’t seen so much rain in nearly a decade.

Ellie goes into the closet to search for clothes. “Yes, let’s walk,” she responds. “Breakfast first?”

She is startled when she turns and sees Vitch standing naked behind her.

“Something first,” he replies, his eyes on fire like the sunrise.