Birth
By: Mnemosyne46
Warning: It's pretty sad.
I stared at the clock. It's sound was poison to my ears. Tick-tock. Every second brought me closer to my death. Every second mocked me, saying,
You can't run. You can't hide. For your death will come from within you, and you cannot run from yourself.
My stomach contacted. The dread was overpowering. I was going to die. It wouldn't be long now. Not even my husband was sure, but I knew. How could someone fail to sense the killing intent of a being within her?
I should have been doing something—contemplating the meaning of life, avenging my own impending doom by trying to kill my husband, or even committing suicide so I wouldn't have to undergo the pain that was to come. A normal person would have done something besides look at the clock. But I was not normal. I had it inside me. And it didn't want to die. It would live at my expense, and at the expense of my unborn son.
The contractions grew worse. I cried out involuntarily, and the midwife came in, with her herbal teas and creams—tiny spears against desperation. Having had two children before this, I knew the drill. I wasn't surprised when the contractions grew worse still.
But then they went away. I was detached from my body, floating above it. I cared about nothing, least of all life. Perhaps that was the reason for pain: the desire for life. But I knew then that that desire was foolish. Death: numbness silence, emptiness—that was how things should be. The tragedy was not that all things died; it was that all things had to travel through life.
"Mother, mother! Are you okay? Father says you might die. Is it true, mother?" The voice of my oldest child and only girl was sweet and kind, but it was also terrible because it forced me back into my body. It reminded me of why I wanted to live--of why life, no matter how horrible, is a blessing. I had no choice. I returned to my body.
Then my entire self was engulfed in pain. What good would this do my dear girl? All I could do was writhe and scream. I managed to choke out,
"Don't worry about me. Just take good care of your brothers. Especially this one that's about to be born. Protect him. Your father will treat him like a weapon. You must treat him like a person," I said. I felt awful handing this burden to my daughter, but I knew what would happen otherwise. Then I saw red hair, the same color as my blood, and a baby's head. It was my last sight before I began floating, floating away this time.
It was pretty short, but I had to write it after I learned of Gaara's past. I guess it was sort of hard to tell whom it was about. If you didn't figure it out, it was from the point of view of Gaara's mother.
Thank-you for not flaming: )
Mnemosyne46