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31_days2008-01-06 08:29 pm
rosehiptea.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2008-01-06 08:29 pm
[January 6] [Original] The Mother Denied
Title: The Mother Denied
Day/Theme: January 6/ambiguity
Series: Original Horror
Character/Pairing: "Kahla"
Rating: R for disturbing and horrific imagery
Word Count: 1,120
Kahla wasn’t supposed to go back to that spot in the woods. She wasn’t even supposed to know what it was or what was buried there. But she had dragged herself off the bed, stumbling and bleeding, to follow the wagon when it took the child away.
The labor had been long, and the midwife was an old-fashioned type who gave Kahla strange looks for being so young, and because her husband had disappeared. She had to believe that Kahla was married though, because the records were there.
As the pain hit her, Kahla had cried out only to the correct gods, hoping to charm the old woman into helping her more, but it hadn’t worked. The midwife had only scolded her for not bearing up under the pain.
Even at the worst of her labors, she hadn’t blamed the baby, or Ovon for disappearing. She blamed herself, just a little, for wanting a child and for being so weak. Then it was over, and she was finally pushing it out, letting herself scream despite the old woman’s disapproval and thinking that now she was a mother.
But her prayers hadn’t worked, and the midwife had whisked the baby into the other room without even cleaning it or announcing its sex.
“It was one of them, child. And born dead. Go to sleep,” the midwife had said, not even approaching her bed.
“It’s not dead! I can hear it crying!” Kahla had insisted.
The midwife had placed a hand on her brow. “Perhaps you are feverish. Close your eyes and try to forget about it. Its mouth wasn’t even big enough to cry.”
“What do you mean? What does it look like? Is it a boy or a girl?”
The woman had refused to continue. “We don’t speak of such things. I’ve said too much already. I’ll give you herbs for sleeping before I go.”
No one ever saw the babies they took away, no one but the midwives. Nameless gods had cursed them and they were to be forgotten. Everyone knew, and no one spoke of it. But Kahla wasn’t certain what was true anymore, because even as the midwife tried to force the cup between her lips she could hear the baby’s voice.
“Bring it in!” she said, but the woman left her alone and cold in the bed. She listened, heard the woman’s footsteps and still the cries of the newborn as they moved away from her small house. And then she fell asleep, because she couldn’t help it. But ages later when she woke to the sound of a horse’s clomping feet she was certain they were taking her child. She forced herself from the bed, stuffing a rag between her legs, and lurched unsteadily toward the door.
Kahla couldn’t keep up with the wagon but she kept walking as she watched it move down the road, clutching at her empty belly and praying no one would see her. When the wagon stopped near the woods she did catch up before it left again, and from the edge of the trees she saw two men with shovels tamping down the dirt of a grave.
She was certain there was nothing else they could be burying, not from her small town, and when they men walked away, she hid from them. Then she went out into the cold and darkness to mark the place with a stone circle. As she stared at it, she couldn’t help wondering what her child looked like, and she prayed that it had finally been dead when they actually placed it in the ground. Part of her wanted to name it, but she still didn’t know if it had been a boy or a girl. And even in her certainty that the midwife had lied to her, she did believe that creatures could be born to men, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to dig up to the grave to see if the body resembled a human.
That night she had to return to her bed, and did not rise from it for a day. The women of the town came to her with food, though they all pretended she had never been pregnant and never had a husband. She wondered if some of them suspected that the baby’s father was not human himself, but a few had seen Ovon on his visits. Or did they think he was not even the father? No, they must know better, some of these women had also given birth to babies no one ever talked about.
And even when she went back to her sewing work and got her own food, she could not look the midwife in the eye, and she visited the grave she had marked every few days. Often she was certain the burial site looked different, that a rock had been moved, but she blamed it on animals and told herself she was safe and no one knew.
But she wasn’t entirely safe, because no one was. One evening as she stood by the grave singing a song from somewhere else that her mother had taught to her, she heard movement in the trees. Before she could run, hands clutched and her and pinned her to the ground. She screamed and struggled and tried to breathe, and in her mind she cursed herself for visiting this place at night. Then suddenly there was blood everywhere and her body was free. When she leapt to her feet she saw the twitching remains of a body on the ground, in too many pieces to tell who it was or if it had ever been human.
She vomited, trying to steel herself to run from whatever had killed her attacker. That was when she saw that the earth over the grave was disturbed, and small pale hands were trying to place it back from underneath.
Kahla nearly fainted, then nearly screamed, then nearly ran for a shovel. Her child was alive? Or was this anything like life or humanity? In the end she sat clutching her knees and weeping, and slowly realized that whatever was there wanted to stay in the earth and did not want a mother. And if she saw it, perhaps even now that would be a mistake.
She rose, trembling, and pushed the dirt and rocks gently back into place. Then she kissed the ground, and said “Thank you.”
There was no one she could tell, no one she could ask, and if she thought about this too long it might destroy her. But on the way home she named her child Ela. She was certain now that it was a girl, and Ela meant “protector.” It would be fitting.
Day/Theme: January 6/ambiguity
Series: Original Horror
Character/Pairing: "Kahla"
Rating: R for disturbing and horrific imagery
Word Count: 1,120
Kahla wasn’t supposed to go back to that spot in the woods. She wasn’t even supposed to know what it was or what was buried there. But she had dragged herself off the bed, stumbling and bleeding, to follow the wagon when it took the child away.
The labor had been long, and the midwife was an old-fashioned type who gave Kahla strange looks for being so young, and because her husband had disappeared. She had to believe that Kahla was married though, because the records were there.
As the pain hit her, Kahla had cried out only to the correct gods, hoping to charm the old woman into helping her more, but it hadn’t worked. The midwife had only scolded her for not bearing up under the pain.
Even at the worst of her labors, she hadn’t blamed the baby, or Ovon for disappearing. She blamed herself, just a little, for wanting a child and for being so weak. Then it was over, and she was finally pushing it out, letting herself scream despite the old woman’s disapproval and thinking that now she was a mother.
But her prayers hadn’t worked, and the midwife had whisked the baby into the other room without even cleaning it or announcing its sex.
“It was one of them, child. And born dead. Go to sleep,” the midwife had said, not even approaching her bed.
“It’s not dead! I can hear it crying!” Kahla had insisted.
The midwife had placed a hand on her brow. “Perhaps you are feverish. Close your eyes and try to forget about it. Its mouth wasn’t even big enough to cry.”
“What do you mean? What does it look like? Is it a boy or a girl?”
The woman had refused to continue. “We don’t speak of such things. I’ve said too much already. I’ll give you herbs for sleeping before I go.”
No one ever saw the babies they took away, no one but the midwives. Nameless gods had cursed them and they were to be forgotten. Everyone knew, and no one spoke of it. But Kahla wasn’t certain what was true anymore, because even as the midwife tried to force the cup between her lips she could hear the baby’s voice.
“Bring it in!” she said, but the woman left her alone and cold in the bed. She listened, heard the woman’s footsteps and still the cries of the newborn as they moved away from her small house. And then she fell asleep, because she couldn’t help it. But ages later when she woke to the sound of a horse’s clomping feet she was certain they were taking her child. She forced herself from the bed, stuffing a rag between her legs, and lurched unsteadily toward the door.
Kahla couldn’t keep up with the wagon but she kept walking as she watched it move down the road, clutching at her empty belly and praying no one would see her. When the wagon stopped near the woods she did catch up before it left again, and from the edge of the trees she saw two men with shovels tamping down the dirt of a grave.
She was certain there was nothing else they could be burying, not from her small town, and when they men walked away, she hid from them. Then she went out into the cold and darkness to mark the place with a stone circle. As she stared at it, she couldn’t help wondering what her child looked like, and she prayed that it had finally been dead when they actually placed it in the ground. Part of her wanted to name it, but she still didn’t know if it had been a boy or a girl. And even in her certainty that the midwife had lied to her, she did believe that creatures could be born to men, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to dig up to the grave to see if the body resembled a human.
That night she had to return to her bed, and did not rise from it for a day. The women of the town came to her with food, though they all pretended she had never been pregnant and never had a husband. She wondered if some of them suspected that the baby’s father was not human himself, but a few had seen Ovon on his visits. Or did they think he was not even the father? No, they must know better, some of these women had also given birth to babies no one ever talked about.
And even when she went back to her sewing work and got her own food, she could not look the midwife in the eye, and she visited the grave she had marked every few days. Often she was certain the burial site looked different, that a rock had been moved, but she blamed it on animals and told herself she was safe and no one knew.
But she wasn’t entirely safe, because no one was. One evening as she stood by the grave singing a song from somewhere else that her mother had taught to her, she heard movement in the trees. Before she could run, hands clutched and her and pinned her to the ground. She screamed and struggled and tried to breathe, and in her mind she cursed herself for visiting this place at night. Then suddenly there was blood everywhere and her body was free. When she leapt to her feet she saw the twitching remains of a body on the ground, in too many pieces to tell who it was or if it had ever been human.
She vomited, trying to steel herself to run from whatever had killed her attacker. That was when she saw that the earth over the grave was disturbed, and small pale hands were trying to place it back from underneath.
Kahla nearly fainted, then nearly screamed, then nearly ran for a shovel. Her child was alive? Or was this anything like life or humanity? In the end she sat clutching her knees and weeping, and slowly realized that whatever was there wanted to stay in the earth and did not want a mother. And if she saw it, perhaps even now that would be a mistake.
She rose, trembling, and pushed the dirt and rocks gently back into place. Then she kissed the ground, and said “Thank you.”
There was no one she could tell, no one she could ask, and if she thought about this too long it might destroy her. But on the way home she named her child Ela. She was certain now that it was a girl, and Ela meant “protector.” It would be fitting.