This is just a random story, which I never intended. I don't know if anyone will really understand it or what it means. Would love to know what you think of it or how you interpreted it. Thanks. )
His skin is transparent, an almost glossy white. Tiny lines lace themselves like web beneath his skin. Intricate soft hairs that lie finely on his head wisp gently. His closed eyes tremor, eyelashes black against the rest of his pale face. His eyelids are so thin she can almost see the blue beneath them. His tiny hands move slightly brushing lightly against the blanket and she cups one of them in both of hers, delicate, but huge against his, which are round and ashen. She wants him to cry, his screams to pierce through the sullen haze, which covers her. The hospital around her is all devastatingly silent. She wishes she were dreaming as she watches him, studies him lying in the cot beside her. He is perfect, ten fingers and ten toes, healthy the doctors say. But as she looks at his tiny shell toenails curling as he sleeps she knows something is wrong, not with him, but her. She is terrified at this life she has created, almost owns. She lays his hand carefully back down on the mattress, her fingers flutter in the air before moving hesitantly to the boys bare chest. It is pale blue in the dull light and is softer than anything she has ever touched before. Malleable.
She has never felt this feeling so strong before, this awareness of life. She doesn't want to control this life, she can barely control her own. Her finger tips press down, pressure beneath his collarbones. He stirs as she pushes her palms on his ribs. When he finally cries it comes out gurgled and faint, but she recoils as he opens his eyes, the deep blue staring at her. Her hands draw back quickly, guilt throbs in her face. She lays back down facing the ceiling, watching the fan swing slowly around. The boy's restless breathing slowly merges into soundless sleep again. She doesn't not sleep, does not look at him for the rest of the first night of his life.
She sees it in this eyes sometimes, as if he knows, as if he can remember. She knows it is not possible, that at 2 months he does not know life, or death. But there is a strange knowledge in his eyes which scares her, as if he can see right through her, knows she has betrayed him already. He is not a happy baby, he rarely cries and he rarely gurgles happily, rarely sounds at all. He simply looks, until she wonders how he doesn't get bored of looking at the same world for so long. Even her mother notices.
"Allison," she says, "There's something strange about that boy…" She knows what her mother is thinking, so she asks the only person she trusts to tell her.
She enters her old life and regards the same whiteboard with the same familiar scrawl of symptoms; her mind is already working at them.
"Long time no see hmm?" His sudden voice doesn't shock her; she is as always determinedly taciturn. She turns slowly straight into the stare of his eyes and nods.
"There's something funny about…my baby." She says, not quite a question. His eyes watch her, mocking her, a vague smile in them.
"He sleeps a lot…never makes a noise, just stares at me…at everything. The nurse says she thinks he's normal, but…"
He understands, and focuses on the tiny curls in front of her ears before answering.
"I was exactly the same," He admits, "I wouldn't worry, I turned out…" She smiles for the first time in close to a year.
"You turned out fine." And she feels the same old satisfaction as he chuckles.
"He has your eyes." She says quietly and looks down, cringing inwardly. Something so typical of her to say. There is a long still silence in the room as he considers what she has said. He watches her fingers intently as they fiddle nimbly with her hem before he slowly walks to stand in front of her.
" Don't hate him because of me." His words are rough and dry in his throat. He sees her swallow deeply and lifts his hand to touch her chin.
"Love him."
She flicks her eyes up to meet his.
"I do."