Kali
Started writing this at about 5 in the morning. I don't expect it to make sense to anyone, really, but it was a concept I had in my mind that I just had to get out, or else I would no longer be able to sleep soundly.
It is what it is. Tell me what it makes you think of!
---
Kali
---
Against the wall of her prison cell, she waited.
She sat with her hands folded lightly in her lap, like a statue of the goddess of mercy. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow.
The little one in her belly squirmed, waiting also.
Soon.
She had been telling this to herself for weeks.
When they had taken her before the one-sided glass and shown her the shape of her pathetic beloved in a metal chair, and told her that if she gave them what they wanted, they would not harm him.
When she refused, for his sake, and saw the things they did to him, she comforted herself with those words. When they said that they were doing these things for her sake, as they did not want to harm what grew in her belly. When they escorted him back to his cell with bruises and aching limbs that rightfully belonged to her.
Soon, she told herself, it would all be over.
When she saw the light fading in his already sightless eyes, any semblance of real happiness leaking out of his raw, arrogant smile. When his hushed, worried prayers for her safety began to cease, she closed her eyes and bit her lip until she drew blood.
Soon. It would all be over, soon.
When her own body betrayed her and forced out the child, the healthy boy-child, she carried within her. When they strapped her to a table and stole his son from her, she told herself.
Soon. It would all. Be over. Soon.
When they forced her to make the decision. When they asked her the question she had already heard him ask. When she could not say a thing to prove her existence, twisting the knife they could not use further and further into her gut.
When she saw the last semblance of love leave his body as he sat alone, hardening and crusting over with resentment and hatred.
Knowing she could not do a thing.
Not yet.
But soon.
Little thoughts filled her mind, in a quiet little half-language, probing gently and swimming freely through her consciousness like a pale, white fish.
Now, now? Ready and go?
Memories had long ago been programmed into the little one’s mind, scents and sensations and everything it needed to do what was required of it.
Images would be useless on those sightless eyes, on the creature who was no longer a child.
She did not need to wait any longer.
Ready and go.
She didn’t know how painful it would be, giving birth to her little one here. His other children had been born of fire and knives, and white pain.
But this was a child of water, she supposed.
She had long ago decided that she would name it Mizuko. A name as fitting as her own.
She felt the weight of her belly shifting lower, her cervix widening.
When she began to scream, it was not because of the pain of her sudden labor, nor in fear at the polluted green of the fluid that began to run down her legs when she got on her knees.
She screamed for herself, but most importantly, for him.
For making him wait. For making him suffer.
Because of her.
She did not expect to be forgiven anymore.
And so she screamed.
By the time her captors had opened her cell to see what was going on, her little one had long since been born, a pale, wretched thing. She held it with shaking arms, her eyes wide with what anyone else would have interpreted as horror, disbelief.
Only her scream was genuine.
A song of pure and utter loss.
It did not breathe, and its loose body did not settle rightly in her arms. As she held it, it stained her sleeves a pale mold-green, a green that did not belong on living things.
It had the most beautiful mouth she had ever seen, bow-shaped and slightly parted, and filled with sharp, perfect little teeth.
They took it from her shortly afterwards, declaring it dead. And she played her part perfectly, the part of a mother suddenly faced with the loss of a child not meant to be born.
Perfect silence, her sandpaper eyes long since emptied of tears.
Against the wall of her prison cell, she waited.
She sat with her legs folded, like a statue of the goddess of destruction. Her eyes were closed, her arms covered in the blood of her creation.
Her belly and her heart were empty.
He did not need to wait any longer.
And she told herself, one last time.
Soon.
It is what it is. Tell me what it makes you think of!
---
Kali
---
Against the wall of her prison cell, she waited.
She sat with her hands folded lightly in her lap, like a statue of the goddess of mercy. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow.
The little one in her belly squirmed, waiting also.
Soon.
She had been telling this to herself for weeks.
When they had taken her before the one-sided glass and shown her the shape of her pathetic beloved in a metal chair, and told her that if she gave them what they wanted, they would not harm him.
When she refused, for his sake, and saw the things they did to him, she comforted herself with those words. When they said that they were doing these things for her sake, as they did not want to harm what grew in her belly. When they escorted him back to his cell with bruises and aching limbs that rightfully belonged to her.
Soon, she told herself, it would all be over.
When she saw the light fading in his already sightless eyes, any semblance of real happiness leaking out of his raw, arrogant smile. When his hushed, worried prayers for her safety began to cease, she closed her eyes and bit her lip until she drew blood.
Soon. It would all be over, soon.
When her own body betrayed her and forced out the child, the healthy boy-child, she carried within her. When they strapped her to a table and stole his son from her, she told herself.
Soon. It would all. Be over. Soon.
When they forced her to make the decision. When they asked her the question she had already heard him ask. When she could not say a thing to prove her existence, twisting the knife they could not use further and further into her gut.
When she saw the last semblance of love leave his body as he sat alone, hardening and crusting over with resentment and hatred.
Knowing she could not do a thing.
Not yet.
But soon.
Little thoughts filled her mind, in a quiet little half-language, probing gently and swimming freely through her consciousness like a pale, white fish.
Now, now? Ready and go?
Memories had long ago been programmed into the little one’s mind, scents and sensations and everything it needed to do what was required of it.
Images would be useless on those sightless eyes, on the creature who was no longer a child.
She did not need to wait any longer.
Ready and go.
She didn’t know how painful it would be, giving birth to her little one here. His other children had been born of fire and knives, and white pain.
But this was a child of water, she supposed.
She had long ago decided that she would name it Mizuko. A name as fitting as her own.
She felt the weight of her belly shifting lower, her cervix widening.
When she began to scream, it was not because of the pain of her sudden labor, nor in fear at the polluted green of the fluid that began to run down her legs when she got on her knees.
She screamed for herself, but most importantly, for him.
For making him wait. For making him suffer.
Because of her.
She did not expect to be forgiven anymore.
And so she screamed.
By the time her captors had opened her cell to see what was going on, her little one had long since been born, a pale, wretched thing. She held it with shaking arms, her eyes wide with what anyone else would have interpreted as horror, disbelief.
Only her scream was genuine.
A song of pure and utter loss.
It did not breathe, and its loose body did not settle rightly in her arms. As she held it, it stained her sleeves a pale mold-green, a green that did not belong on living things.
It had the most beautiful mouth she had ever seen, bow-shaped and slightly parted, and filled with sharp, perfect little teeth.
They took it from her shortly afterwards, declaring it dead. And she played her part perfectly, the part of a mother suddenly faced with the loss of a child not meant to be born.
Perfect silence, her sandpaper eyes long since emptied of tears.
Against the wall of her prison cell, she waited.
She sat with her legs folded, like a statue of the goddess of destruction. Her eyes were closed, her arms covered in the blood of her creation.
Her belly and her heart were empty.
He did not need to wait any longer.
And she told herself, one last time.
Soon.