A Grisly Birth
General Summary
But for mother’s gentle throbbing heartbeat, my dreams wander through silent darkness. The endless black is comforting, like a warm blanket pulled up under the chin, tucked in by a caring hand. No monsters wander the void; only mother and I exist, enveloped in protective darkness, entirely unlike the world outside.
Everything shakes suddenly, and I don’t know why. Mother fades away, and I can’t hear her heartbeat anymore. Goosebumps blossom on my arms, skin and bone under a blanket no longer worthy of the word threadbare. It isn’t light yet, and I don’t know what’s happening. Where did she go? Why did she leave me? What if they’re here?
The thought of the wolves sets my heart to racing, and I curl into a ball, as tight as I can. I scrunch my eyes closed, that way I can’t see their masks. I hate the masks, with their dead blue eyes and a face that only smiles because it can almost taste your blood, running hot and fresh over red lips that don’t look so red in comparison. I like the mask better than the face missing from beneath the plastic, though.
Something bumps my shoulder, knocking loose a strangled whimper. I wait for the victorious screeching and searing pain that marks the end, but they never come. A hundred other sounds whirl around me, unbearably loud. Wind stalks down a lonely street outside. An old scrap of paper skitters across the floor, running from the clattering shards of glass that pursue at the wind’s behest. A rattling cough comes from nearby, followed by a rain of pebbles.
Instead of too many teeth tearing away at my flesh, the push comes again, harder this time. The Gun Lady’s voice hisses out angrily with it: “Kid. Get up.” I crack open one eye, flicking it toward her. The hand on my shoulder shifts again, every muscle in the attached arm tight. She’s looking away, eyes fixed on something else out of view. Her pulse whispers to me through her palm, tells me she’s scared, unsure.
I like the Gun Lady, I shared my tomatoes with her. She says scary, mean things to me sometimes, but I don’t mind because she doesn’t do them. She also helps keep me safe, like when the other gun lady was angry because I had food. I decide to listen because she reminds me of mother.
I slowly open my eyes and lift up my head, still expecting to see the wolves all around us. I only see Gun Lady and the Yellow Person and the Water Man and his people. One of them, the one I don’t like, has wild eyes darting around like a caged animal. He scratches at the bumps on his face and coughs out more teeth. There are only a few more rattling around in his head.
His name is Crow, and I don’t like him. I know he has secrets, and I think he has a bird inside him. He still had his face, but then he coughs again, scattering his last teeth across the ground. They drop like tiny rocks next to the others, jumping around a few times before settling down. Now I know he has a bird inside him, birds have no teeth.
When his eyes and nose start to squelch back into his head, I know Crow needs to die. Without his face he’ll get hungry and start screeching. Inviting the other wolves to dinner.
I scream out, "He’s a wolf! Kill him!" but nothing happens. Gun Lady watches Crow with her whole body, every muscle poised to leap into action. Her hand twitches on her gun, but nothing happens. Without Crow’s coughing, any sound is drowned under the rising tensions. Crow’s face continues to smooth out, nose flattening, pimples fading away, eyes closing forever.
His last few seconds of sight are spent staring at the Gun Lady’s bag, the one with all the masks. I told them not to take the masks, that they are wrong, but they didn’t listen. Everyone has one, except for me and Crow, and now Crow needs one so badly that it hurts to live without, and I wish we’d never seen them.
Everyone else lies still, wrapped in the comforting embrace of their dreams. Gun Lady and I wait for the chance to breathe, for the tension to finally loosen its grip on our chests. Crow’s breaths are ragged and panting, each one expelling a piece of his soul. The world falls away, leaving behind just the three of us and the bag.
I just wish it would end, the oppressive silence, the insidious darkness that obscures Crow’s face. The shifting shadows make me wonder if my imagination gave birth to his twisted transformation and not reality, or if the air being too thick to breathe was all part of a bad dream, mother punishing me for some unknown slight.
We three sit frozen in a terrible, pregnant moment, caught between nothing and everything. Time stands still on our black island in a sea of nighttime, forever in the space where the moon has set and the sun has yet to rise.
It all happens in the same instant. Crow’s face flattens into nothing, his mouth becomes a whirling vortex of fangs, pincers and tendrils, all grasping at the air, starved for flesh. A piercing shriek cuts through the quiet, driving right down into my bones like a knife. He dives for the bag and rips out a mask, its emotionless face smiling victoriously as he pulls it over his missing face. He falls back as Gun Lady moves, the light and heat of the sun leaping out of her hand, a bullet shattering Crow’s plastic forehead. His still blonde curls fly away from his porcelain cheeks. Flat blue eyes drip their first red tears. His broken body lies flat on the ground, blood running hot and fresh over red lips that don’t look so red in comparison.
Darkness follows the fiery light, and silence follows the concussive sound that wakes the world from its slumber. Time starts back up, and the wind blows through the long forgotten aisles of the pharmacy. A gentle gust brushed the hair back from my forehead, mother’s caress reassuring me that everything will be alright.
An excellent hook to start. The abstractness really works well with the idea of the child-thing, which feels like an abstract type of class overall withing AW. Your descriptors are excellent, and help invoke all five senses. It feels incredibly well written, and some parts give me chills. It's easy to understand what parts your character is thinking and what they're describing, without needing to change the typeface or style of the font. As a reader, I am able to picture myself as your character, and really understand what they're seeing and experiencing. In that aspect, this piece is super awesome to read. However with that, I would also say your piece seems a little to abstract. It paints a picture well, but the main thread is hard to decipher. It took me a couple times reading it over and over for me to actually understand what was going on story wise. Lastly, I would say another issue would be consistency. In one part you mention "Gun Lady", while in other parts you mention "the Gun Lady". I suggest picking one style (for the other character you use "the", so I would say stick with that). Your piece is excellent. It really captures a moment from your session well, and is able to paint a descriptive and gruesome picture of the events that unfolded. It really felt like I, as the reader, was in the shoes of your character experiencing this in real time and I really enjoyed that. I can't wait for your next piece.