I have no rights to Naruto
Rating: R/M, for brief and non-explicit sexual content, insanity.
She Loves
All
she ever says are not quite lies,
as
she rests her hands on her lap,
and
smiles.
She
looks like a photograph,
glowing
like golden morning,
lips
curved in grin,
eyes
laughing at nothing.
He
wonders if he even loves her;
his
wife;
the
women who lives in his house
-their house-
And
sleeps in his bed
-their bed-
And
gave birth to his children
-their children-
He doubts it.
Their
children sit on her lap,
eagerly
soaking up her sweetness;
her
candy-coated words
that
are not quite lies.
They
call for her,
the
words awkward in their mouths.
They
want for her.
'Mother! Mother!'
She
is Mother.
And
she loves her children,
regardless.
And
Mother and Father
love
each other,
like
they promised.
Too
bad love means nothing to him.
Too bad Father decides to prove it to himself.
His
kiss is cold on her lips,
on
her neck,
stomach.
His
fingers are cold in her hair,
on
her breasts,
thighs,
but
she's beginning to enjoy the numb.
His
seed is cold as it
slithers
inside of her;
the
pain/pleasure that ties them there,
breathless.
His
sweat is cold
on
her pale skin,
and
she shivers
with
a lopsided grin.
The
nightmares return to consume her,
lying
tangled in the sheets beside him.
The
morning comes, red and warm,
and
he is gone already.
She
lies there alone, but
their
bed is empty.
She
can't remember why she's smiling -
oh
yes!
Because
she loves him,
and
loves their children.
She
is Mother.
She
loves.
A
few months pass, and her stomach bulges out,
and
she feels a little sick,
but
that's nothing new.
She
runs her fingers over the
roundness
that holds her child.
And she smiles.
Their
first (living) children,
a
girl of two, and a boy of one,
try
to talk to their unborn sibling
through
tight-knit wall of flesh.
Mother
laughs, and says It can hear them.
He can hear every word.
She
begins waking up
in
the middle of the dry desert night,
trying
to cry out, while
the
images in her head strangle her.
But
it's hard to scream
when
your choking on a smile.
It
hurts.
She
tries to pretend it doesn't,
but
It is still there,
gnawing,
clawing
at her insides.
Even
now, she tries to love It through the pain,
but
that's nothing new.
Mother
tells him.
Father
looks away,
His
gaze cold upon her.
She's
forgetting to smile.
She's
forgetting to love.
Her
guise is slipping,
as
she sits in her chair by the window,
never
alone, because It is always there;
Inside
of her.
And
each day it gets a little bit worse.
She
can no longer play with her children,
but
tells them she loves them.
Father
does too, but
the
words hit the air and fall like stones,
rippling
the waters of their almost perfect world.
Every
night she lies in bed,
waiting
for his cold body to join them.
Her
eyes are wide in her sleeplessness, fearful
of
the phantoms that lurk in her dreams.
It
continues to devour her,
eating
it's way out,
and
she screams,
numbingly
overwhelmed by the torment.
And
her head keeps aching, pounding,
and
she's trying to remember what
she
was going to say, but
she
just smiles emptily,
as
it swallows a little more of what's left of her soul.
And it's getting almost too hard to love them anymore.
Finally,
the day comes,
when
water trickles down from between her creamy legs,
and
sharp pain is the precursor for
It's
arrival.
Between
each contraction,
she
laughs,
and
wonders if it's worth loving
the
cold and the hate
that
has destroyed her.
She can't decide.
And
she screams so loud her
throat
feels raw, as It crawls out of her,
coated
in vermilion stickiness.
Her
blood.
Gazing
at it,
she
smiles
sickly.
She is It's Mother.
'Gaara' her slick tongue says.
And
her body gives up,
and
her heart gives out,
and
her soul gives way to the deluge
that
has threatened to crush her for so long.
She
loved the sick little lie
that
was their love;
that
created their son;
that
was used to gave life to
a
bringer of death.
He
started with her,
and
it's hard to stop when
the
blood tastes so familiar,
and
all he has is her photograph,
smiling
at him.
She is Mother.
But even now.
She loves.
end