Amniotic Fluid.
Rose-tinted Eyes
The strange fluid numbed everything. It had a thicker consistency as water; but it was not quite gel. It was warm and enveloping, but she felt nothing. She could hear, but it was faint and muffled. She would often hear talking, though it was distant, as if through brick walls. Sometimes there was a danger of being approached, but she always withdrew before disaster struck. She lived like this for many years; she was not sad, but she was not happy. She felt nothing. Her world was filled with soft pastel colours, dimly lit with rose-tinted lighting. Everything was soft. Her hair billowed in soft clouds around her head as she floated on through her life. A translucent sheen fogged her vision, giving the world a soft effect.
Yet she still felt nothing. There was no happiness that filled the chambers of her heart, and no darkness in her mind. It remained so for many years. She was not waiting; she did not know there was anything to wait for. She simply lived, floating in her fluid, feeling no aim in life; no drive to push her forward, to want more.
There was something else there. Something in her world; in her amniotic fluid. She could not see it, but she could hear it, smell it, taste it.Her breathing quickened, her heart pounded. This had happened once before. She did not want to recollect what had happened. The thing seemed to draw nearer in her muffled, peaceful world. She did not want it to. It was wrong, it shouldn't be here. The barriers were up.
She recoiled from it. It touched her back and she jerked away in shock. That had never happened before. The thing touched the small of her back again. It whispered to her.
“I won't let them hurt you,” it murmured. “Come with me. They won't hurt you.”
Numbly, she obeyed. Why, she could not understand, but she trusted that voice. Wary at first, but as the months passed she began to reach out for it. Soon, she began to yearn for it. The world's colour slowly flooded in as she was birthed from the suffocating womb. She was a child in the wonderful, bright world, but she had her comforter to guide her. It was bright and hurt her eyes, but she adored it. Not for anything would she tone down the hue of the fast-paced world after all that time in purgatory, suffering the curse of semi-blindness. Not now that she could see. She fell often, but her comforter was always there to catch her.
The comforting voice held her throughout her learning curve, and like a hermit crab she soon grew out of her shell. She fell in love with the voice that had guided her, supported her and comforted her. She stared into the odd eyes, held the strong hands.
“I love you. Please don't leave me.”
The voice hesitated, the shining blue eye blinking in unison with the black. Finally, it replied nervously, “I – I love you too.”
Yet even as the whisper of words escaped the perfectly formed lips, she could feel the comforter's hands slipping out of hers. The voice grew more distant, the strong legs slipping back, and there was a whisper of fabric as it dragged across the floor. The world seemed to crumble. The warm, calloused hands were snatched from hers, the eyes closing. She cried out for her comforter to say, but the voice seemed to only disappear faster. Her insecurities echoed, her secrets scattered. She fell; she was not caught. Her comforter was gone.
Tears streamed down her face. Her mind whispered jagged insults; it showed her her ugliness, her soullessness, her stupidity. She lay in foetal position, salty tears dripping into her sobbing mouth.
“No,” she cried. “I don't want this anymore. I don't want the painful colours. Take them away. Leave me be, please, take them away.”
Dark, murmuring hands caressed her. They smoothed her hair, caressed her face, touched her in ways she had never experienced before. They wiped away her tears and kissed her lips, comforting her. Her new comforter. The world dimmed, a rose tint flooding in and the bright colours that so hurt her eyes. She wondered why anyone would have ever wanted the harsh, bright colours. There was a foggy sheen in front of her eyes.
A distant, whispering voice and vaguely familiar voice in her head whispered urgently “No,”. It reminded her of better times, brighter times where she could see clearly. For a moment, she grasped at it, but it hurt her heart and her head. The aching was too much to bear, when it was so very easy to let it go. As it slipped through her relaxing fingers, the voice sighed, and seemed to emit a frown. She seemed to care; but as it faded, so did her memory.
Her world was filled with soft pastel colours, dimly lit with rose-tinted lighting. Her hair billowed in soft clouds around her head as she floated on through her life.
Yet she still felt nothing. There was no happiness that filled the chambers of her heart, and no darkness in her mind. It remained so for many years. She was not waiting; she did not know there was anything to wait for. She simply lived, floating in her fluid, feeling no aim in life; no drive to push her forward, to want more.
There was something else there. Something in her world; in her amniotic fluid. She could not see it, but she could hear it, smell it, taste it.Her breathing quickened, her heart pounded. This had happened once before. She did not want to recollect what had happened. The thing seemed to draw nearer in her muffled, peaceful world. She did not want it to. It was wrong, it shouldn't be here. The barriers were up.
She recoiled from it. It touched her back and she jerked away in shock. That had never happened before. The thing touched the small of her back again. It whispered to her.
“I won't let them hurt you,” it murmured. “Come with me. They won't hurt you.”
Numbly, she obeyed. Why, she could not understand, but she trusted that voice. Wary at first, but as the months passed she began to reach out for it. Soon, she began to yearn for it. The world's colour slowly flooded in as she was birthed from the suffocating womb. She was a child in the wonderful, bright world, but she had her comforter to guide her. It was bright and hurt her eyes, but she adored it. Not for anything would she tone down the hue of the fast-paced world after all that time in purgatory, suffering the curse of semi-blindness. Not now that she could see. She fell often, but her comforter was always there to catch her.
The comforting voice held her throughout her learning curve, and like a hermit crab she soon grew out of her shell. She fell in love with the voice that had guided her, supported her and comforted her. She stared into the odd eyes, held the strong hands.
“I love you. Please don't leave me.”
The voice hesitated, the shining blue eye blinking in unison with the black. Finally, it replied nervously, “I – I love you too.”
Yet even as the whisper of words escaped the perfectly formed lips, she could feel the comforter's hands slipping out of hers. The voice grew more distant, the strong legs slipping back, and there was a whisper of fabric as it dragged across the floor. The world seemed to crumble. The warm, calloused hands were snatched from hers, the eyes closing. She cried out for her comforter to say, but the voice seemed to only disappear faster. Her insecurities echoed, her secrets scattered. She fell; she was not caught. Her comforter was gone.
Tears streamed down her face. Her mind whispered jagged insults; it showed her her ugliness, her soullessness, her stupidity. She lay in foetal position, salty tears dripping into her sobbing mouth.
“No,” she cried. “I don't want this anymore. I don't want the painful colours. Take them away. Leave me be, please, take them away.”
Dark, murmuring hands caressed her. They smoothed her hair, caressed her face, touched her in ways she had never experienced before. They wiped away her tears and kissed her lips, comforting her. Her new comforter. The world dimmed, a rose tint flooding in and the bright colours that so hurt her eyes. She wondered why anyone would have ever wanted the harsh, bright colours. There was a foggy sheen in front of her eyes.
A distant, whispering voice and vaguely familiar voice in her head whispered urgently “No,”. It reminded her of better times, brighter times where she could see clearly. For a moment, she grasped at it, but it hurt her heart and her head. The aching was too much to bear, when it was so very easy to let it go. As it slipped through her relaxing fingers, the voice sighed, and seemed to emit a frown. She seemed to care; but as it faded, so did her memory.
Her world was filled with soft pastel colours, dimly lit with rose-tinted lighting. Her hair billowed in soft clouds around her head as she floated on through her life.