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07-24-2016, 12:12 PM
esinakh
Life was a sea of warmth and rhythmic beating. Her heart had, from the beginning, been a smaller and fainter tempo than that of the one beating alongside hers (brother) or the overwhelming cadence that was the overarching rhythm of their entire world (mother’s). Hers had been a quiet beat, nearly a flutter; racing and slowing; trying to find some synchrony between the two beats around her.
It took a long while, so fast was her brother’s beat and so strongly slow was her mothers. Until one day, this day, when mother’s began to increase, to race and beat faster and faster. So fast that it nearly matched brothers—finally, all their hearts can beat as one.
But then brother’s heartbeat is gone and her own heart begins to race, so much more than a flutter. It’s a small, pulsing bomb in her chest, a terrified ticking that’s moments from imploding. There’s not enough; not enough room, not enough oxygen, not enough light.
A stillness overcomes her, succumbing to this ‘not enough.’ She is not enough, over before she began. A silent soul, entombed in mother’s blanket of life. A comforting vessel to take her beyond the world she had already missed.
But then—light. It pierces into her eyes just as dry, stinging air pierces her skin. But, still, she is beyond this, now. She is…. she is awash with warmth? The same warmth from before the darkness, but also different. A good different, a different that makes her small, slender ribs rattle as her chest expands, a quiet bleated exhale given as this breath hurts her starved, drowned lungs.
White eyes open slowly, sounds a confused cacophony around her—a joyful whinny, loud and relieved breaths, a deep shout. But what overwhelms her air-famished mind is the red. The bloody blanket that swaths her, strangles her, just as the mucous that puddles around her had filled and swamped her lungs.
And she wanted out, away from this mangled mess that had been her birth. Long, ashen legs flail and strike randomly against the air and earth. Her nubbin wings flapped and beat in small strokes as a small, broken squeal rushed out of her tiny chest. Away, away, her body strived.
But then—soft pressure. She stilled head raising from the blooded goop and white eyes widely searching, arresting on the blues of her sibling. His tiny muzzle touched against her, despite the dangerous bag she laid in, as if she was good. As if she was safe, now.
And so she returned the gesture in kind, small muddled muzzle tentatively reaching out to her brother-calf. Another, calmer low came from her quivering nostrils.
It took a long while, so fast was her brother’s beat and so strongly slow was her mothers. Until one day, this day, when mother’s began to increase, to race and beat faster and faster. So fast that it nearly matched brothers—finally, all their hearts can beat as one.
But then brother’s heartbeat is gone and her own heart begins to race, so much more than a flutter. It’s a small, pulsing bomb in her chest, a terrified ticking that’s moments from imploding. There’s not enough; not enough room, not enough oxygen, not enough light.
A stillness overcomes her, succumbing to this ‘not enough.’ She is not enough, over before she began. A silent soul, entombed in mother’s blanket of life. A comforting vessel to take her beyond the world she had already missed.
But then—light. It pierces into her eyes just as dry, stinging air pierces her skin. But, still, she is beyond this, now. She is…. she is awash with warmth? The same warmth from before the darkness, but also different. A good different, a different that makes her small, slender ribs rattle as her chest expands, a quiet bleated exhale given as this breath hurts her starved, drowned lungs.
White eyes open slowly, sounds a confused cacophony around her—a joyful whinny, loud and relieved breaths, a deep shout. But what overwhelms her air-famished mind is the red. The bloody blanket that swaths her, strangles her, just as the mucous that puddles around her had filled and swamped her lungs.
And she wanted out, away from this mangled mess that had been her birth. Long, ashen legs flail and strike randomly against the air and earth. Her nubbin wings flapped and beat in small strokes as a small, broken squeal rushed out of her tiny chest. Away, away, her body strived.
But then—soft pressure. She stilled head raising from the blooded goop and white eyes widely searching, arresting on the blues of her sibling. His tiny muzzle touched against her, despite the dangerous bag she laid in, as if she was good. As if she was safe, now.
And so she returned the gesture in kind, small muddled muzzle tentatively reaching out to her brother-calf. Another, calmer low came from her quivering nostrils.
vod chafaan
dust to the wind
Please tag Esinakh.
