The Propriety of a Dying Mother
"And so the Spirits Just Gazed at Us With Eyes Milked Dry of Care"
I am cold. The crisp midnight air nips at my bony arms like the fresh crack of a whip. The gray cobblestone ground is slippery, puddles adorning the nooks and crannies of the uneven pattern. Small tuffs of clouds slowly dance into the black sky. Little pieces break off like cotton and float away on their own, sure enough to disappear into nothingness. Like the clouds, my breath flows from my cracked lips in puffs. A fierce intake of breath feels like knives racing down my throat. I am struggling. I am scared.
My unlaced boot catches hold in a pothole and I almost lose grasp on the small bundle in my arms. I pause, slightly hunched over, my body rattling. Eyes wide, I peer down at the thing. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t make noise. Is it even alive? I don’t bother to look. Instead, I press the tattered, dirt stained blanket to my heaving chest. Inside of it is something I must not remember. Tonight I shall get rid of it. Tonight is the last night.
A scrawny black cat crosses my path as I near the fountain in the middle of the town square. Its yellow glowing eyes meet my plain brown ones and we have a stare off. It meows, almost sending me a sick grin. The scrawny ugly monster soon prances off. A few wiry black hairs linger behind. I watch him disappear into the shadows. His name is Chester. He is not bad luck.
The moon is full and something howls in the distance. My neck snaps back as I hear a pebble clink near the fountain. Stupid sewer rats. This most arduous journey of mine does not come without its paranoia. It’s not until the end that every small thing begins to matter. I try to press on in silence, but the night seems to be a loud one. My ears catch every sound. My eyes see every image. Even that which does not exist seems to plague this night.
But I know that what I am doing right now, this very minute is not wrong. For once I am making the decision that I should have made a year ago. I am young, and those who are young do not think. They do not think of what is to come or how so shall it come or why shall it come. Things are different now. Now I realize what danger this bundle in my arms is exposed to. I am greedy. I am insane.
Finally the building is before me. Its five stories appear ominous in this haunting night. Some windows beam an orange hue. Black images move about, visible through the sheer curtains. One man taps his pipe; another paces by the ledge. A woman spanks her child, fighting it to go to sleep. Two lovers unite passionately. It is a long building. There are many who live there. People of all sorts, really.
The steps to the thick black doors seem ten times as long as the path that led me here. I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to do this. I can turn around right now. It’s the tiny holes along my arms that quiet those thoughts, the little needle pricks and lines. It’s the bottle of ale crying my name back in the alley that halts my doubts. It’s the empty pockets and nakedness that breaks the sympathy. No, I must go on with this. For once, I shall finish that which I have started.
I debate with myself, wondering whether it is proper to take one last look at that which I am leaving. It’s not abandonment, for I am thinking not of myself, but of this innocent creature born not yet three months ago. She didn’t ask for this. But what she asks for I cannot give. I peel back the corner of the smelly blanket. She is awake. Her blue eyes look up at me. They are not my eyes. Her little pink tongue gets past her thin lips. Those lips are mine. Her hand wraps around my finger, which I immediately jerk away. Her nose crinkles. That is not my nose. Her chin bunches up. That chin is mine.
Slowly I lower her onto the stairs. I pull back, my heart falling from my chest as our last touch ends. She squirms a little, the ground more icy than the air. She is naked and hungry. I must disconnect from her. I must forget that she ever existed. But that shrill cry makes it hard. She knows that I am leaving. She knows that I will never return. She knows that I cannot keep her. She has known since she was born. I turn. And I run.
My child will live above the world and so shall I live beneath it.
My unlaced boot catches hold in a pothole and I almost lose grasp on the small bundle in my arms. I pause, slightly hunched over, my body rattling. Eyes wide, I peer down at the thing. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t make noise. Is it even alive? I don’t bother to look. Instead, I press the tattered, dirt stained blanket to my heaving chest. Inside of it is something I must not remember. Tonight I shall get rid of it. Tonight is the last night.
A scrawny black cat crosses my path as I near the fountain in the middle of the town square. Its yellow glowing eyes meet my plain brown ones and we have a stare off. It meows, almost sending me a sick grin. The scrawny ugly monster soon prances off. A few wiry black hairs linger behind. I watch him disappear into the shadows. His name is Chester. He is not bad luck.
The moon is full and something howls in the distance. My neck snaps back as I hear a pebble clink near the fountain. Stupid sewer rats. This most arduous journey of mine does not come without its paranoia. It’s not until the end that every small thing begins to matter. I try to press on in silence, but the night seems to be a loud one. My ears catch every sound. My eyes see every image. Even that which does not exist seems to plague this night.
But I know that what I am doing right now, this very minute is not wrong. For once I am making the decision that I should have made a year ago. I am young, and those who are young do not think. They do not think of what is to come or how so shall it come or why shall it come. Things are different now. Now I realize what danger this bundle in my arms is exposed to. I am greedy. I am insane.
Finally the building is before me. Its five stories appear ominous in this haunting night. Some windows beam an orange hue. Black images move about, visible through the sheer curtains. One man taps his pipe; another paces by the ledge. A woman spanks her child, fighting it to go to sleep. Two lovers unite passionately. It is a long building. There are many who live there. People of all sorts, really.
The steps to the thick black doors seem ten times as long as the path that led me here. I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to do this. I can turn around right now. It’s the tiny holes along my arms that quiet those thoughts, the little needle pricks and lines. It’s the bottle of ale crying my name back in the alley that halts my doubts. It’s the empty pockets and nakedness that breaks the sympathy. No, I must go on with this. For once, I shall finish that which I have started.
I debate with myself, wondering whether it is proper to take one last look at that which I am leaving. It’s not abandonment, for I am thinking not of myself, but of this innocent creature born not yet three months ago. She didn’t ask for this. But what she asks for I cannot give. I peel back the corner of the smelly blanket. She is awake. Her blue eyes look up at me. They are not my eyes. Her little pink tongue gets past her thin lips. Those lips are mine. Her hand wraps around my finger, which I immediately jerk away. Her nose crinkles. That is not my nose. Her chin bunches up. That chin is mine.
Slowly I lower her onto the stairs. I pull back, my heart falling from my chest as our last touch ends. She squirms a little, the ground more icy than the air. She is naked and hungry. I must disconnect from her. I must forget that she ever existed. But that shrill cry makes it hard. She knows that I am leaving. She knows that I will never return. She knows that I cannot keep her. She has known since she was born. I turn. And I run.
My child will live above the world and so shall I live beneath it.
♠ ♠ ♠
I've never had the patience for short stories, but wanted to try my hand at some drabble. Let me know what you think!Edited by: silent hearts. and maudaah.