The Greatest Accident (Rhiannon's Epilogue, Part 1)
You only get one wish.

Not something useful,
Nothing you'd think to ask for
If you had time to weigh it,
Like money to pay the rent and buy the groceries,
A winning lottery ticket,
Health for your aging cat or a
Little bit of perspective.

Not protection for yourself, either,
A life well-lived, free of earth-shattering screw-ups
Or bad decisions or car accidents.
Not even a long, happy marriage.
Kids and a yard and a mortgage payment.

You want those things,
But they're too easy, yeah?
They're the wishes of your conscious mind.
The simple ones.

If gods without voice tell you,
'We will grant the wish closest to your heart',
Here's a hint:
They mean the thing you won't even admit out loud,
Even if it's a cosmic joke.
They mean the thing that pops up before rational thought,
Before shame changes your answer,
Like a goddamn collection of child pornography
Or the cold, dead heart of your ex-boyfriend in your hands.
It's a Stay-Puft Marshmallow Wish.
By the time you realize you've conjured it up,
It's too late.
It's already happened.

After all the white light, I couldn't remember what I asked for.
Not a thing.
I suppose the reason is that I never did.
I had a thought -- a nano-thought --
So quick it didn't register.
I went home.
I let it go.
I didn't care, I was so stupidly glad the world hadn't ended.

Then one night when I was sleeping, I remembered and it woke me up.
I asked for her.
And as they told me in the sky,
I couldn't interfere with the free will of others,
So I know she wanted it, too.

Welcome back, Deanna.
I'll see you soon.