Author's note: Another Janto, tell me if you like it and I will continue; I have several ideas of how this could go. Reviews always appreciated.
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I am standing alone in a pool of darkness. Around me, streetlights splash circles of colour onto the damp pavement, reflecting across the surface of puddles, making them seem incalculably deep. Rain is dripping from an overhanging shop front, trickling down the back of my jacket in an icy stream. I am freezing, tired and soaked to the skin, but I do not move, I am waiting for something.
On the opposite curb a van pulls up, splashing muddy water from underneath its tires, some of the droplets reach me. I lift my arm to wipe the splatter of dirt from my face, and when I once again glance up there are two figures standing on the path. This is what I have been waiting for, and, moving silently as a cat, I follow them across the street.
The building they enter is in a sorry state of disrepair, peeling wallpaper, sagging window frames, floor and ceiling bubbling and stained from years of damp and decay. The woman who answers the door looks aged beyond her years, face sunken and worn, and streaks of grey already permeating pale blonde hair. She nods at the figures and ushers them down a badly lit hall, I follow ten steps behind.
Each step on the carpet produces a horrible squelching sound, and a black sludge oozes around my shoes, I wrinkle my nose in disgust. The place is empty, no sound floods the rooms, and light is blocked from the windows by brown sheets of paper, taped at the edges. Cold draughts drift from under doors, and bring goose-bumps to my arms and legs. Even the smell is unwelcoming, a strange mixture of disinfectant and boiled cabbage, it reminds me of a hospital.
The people have entered a room at the far end of the hall; I quicken my pace and slip in just as the door is shut behind us. They sit around a table, and from the flickering light that illuminates the room I can see there is one man, and one woman. The woman leans forwards cradling a bundle in her arms, wary, protective. I peer closer and see it for what it is, a tiny baby, newly born.
The veil that protects me from their sight also blocks out noise, and although I can see her mouth moving I can hear nothing of what she is saying. She actions are sharp and anguished, as though she is angry or frightened, or, quite possibly, both. She gestures around then room and I see the other woman shake her head. What are they saying?
At that point the man leans forward, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder; she relaxes into him in a way that seems oddly familiar. The baby is held protectively to her chest, and she croons to it, rocking it up and down. With gentle movements the man takes it from her and hands it the older woman, his shoulders slumped with some unnamed grief. And the younger woman, the child's mother leans against him shaking with sobs.
They rise slowly, and this time the woman leads them up a set of wooden stairs to a children's dormitory. Cots line two walls separated by railings and spaces of mathematical precision, in each lies a sleeping child, curled in a single sheet. The furthest one is vacant, and it is to there that the woman proceeds, placing the bundle down upon the empty mattress. It seems so alone, a dark shape in a sea of grey.
The mother walks to the cot, straightening the blanket that covers the sleeping form, the moves are mechanical, robotic, but I can sense they cover a deep sadness. Me and the man stand watching her, each as helpless as the other, to go to her, to abate her pain. Finally she turns away, face masked by shadows. She walks to the man and together they leave the room hand in hand. Neither looks back.
I am tempted to walk to the child, to look closer into its face, but my feet take my away from the room, following the fast disappearing figures. They return to the room with the chairs, where the old woman waits for them. I can see from the way they cling to one another they are drawing on each other's strength, keeping the other upright. Again they talk, but this time the man interrupts; he shakes his head viciously and pulls the young woman close to him; his arms mimicking the protective ark of hers over the child.
It seems his comment has put an abrupt end to any semblance of normal conversation, and again the two figures rise. The older woman makes a half hearted attempted to call them back, but she is ignored, left railing along behind. The couples backs are rigid, and the stiffness in their walking tells me more than tears and screaming ever could. They will not come back here, this place holds a deep sadness and it will haunt them till they die.
They reach the door together, and the man opens it clumsily, fumbling with the unfamiliar handle. He half turns, trying to force the warped wood to move, and as he does the light catches his face. Features which have, until now, been hidden beneath dark hair, suddenly become clear, and I almost fall backwards. There staring back at me, the open defiance in his eyes not quite hiding the tears which threaten to come, is a horribly familiar face.
End note: Hope you enjoyed! Please review.