Within

I can feel the needles crawl under my fingernails. They are cold and sharp. They are shooting threads of liquid into my small, warm hands. From within this home – this haven, which I have always thought as safe, I begin to feel uneasy.

It is the first time I have ever felt danger. I feel like I am not alone in this place anymore.

I can hear sobbing. If I could hug the weeping woman, I would. She is very close to me. Very soon I will be able to see her, to meet her for the first time. Oh, how happy we both shall be!

Until that day though, I am able to remain wrapped in this cocoon. It has been so warm for the many months I have been sleeping and eating. I have been able to feel everything happening in the world outside. It sounds so exciting!

Tonight I can feel a stinging sensation up and down my small spine. It feels like someone has grabbed a rusty iron bar is grinding it up and down against my bones. If I was not hanging from here I would collapse.

* * * *

The sun rose, washing a melting orange watercolour across the canvas of the sky. The woman sighed heavily, placing a hand on her stomach. There has to be an alternative, she thought. Surely she couldn’t go through with it.

The woman placed her face into her hands. There was no other way.

* * * *

The cocoon has been getting colder and colder every hour. The needle pricks have been getting sharper. I am starting to feel weak. I can feel blood running up through my throat. Still, I close my eyes and wait. I tell myself that everything will be alright.

I hope that it is.

* * * *

The doctor’s glass door slammed shut behind the woman. She was walking away slowly with tears running down her cheeks. She felt like she had taken a life, and, in a sense, she had.

The guilt-ridden woman fell to her knees on the pavement. The midday sun tried to wrap its arms around her, but she felt so cold; so empty.

* * * *

The lights have been dimming recently. I hope that they do not cease to shine. I am scared of the absence of light.

I can feel tentacles of darkness as black as oil at midnight wrap around my small ankles. It tries to pull me violently into a swirling whirlpool of infinite black. I bob up and down in it, trying to catch my breath.

I feel the tube on my neck snap. I plunge into the depths of darkness. I fling my arms and legs everywhere, trying to resurface. The wind rips out of my throat, leaving me breathless.

Then I can’t feel anything.

Nothing at all…

* * * *

Suddenly the pain is gone. In fact, I feel like I am floating on clouds. The war inside that claimed me victim has ceased.

I look down from the sky to see who put the pins under my fingernails; to see who had caused me so much pain.

I want to see who took my life away. I want to see who killed me. And I do.

My mother killed me.

Before I was even born.

Matthew Rudge