I don’t want to be here, not in this country, not in this hospital, not near these people. It’s always been so lonely here, so why is it that now I have company and I want them to go away? They seem so happy yet I can’t feel happy for them. That woman, whoever she is. Gripping the bed railing hard, sweat clinging to her scalp. Her husband is at her side, extending words of reassurance over her screams. It wasn't like that for me. It's not fair that their child should live and mine should be left unborn.
A nurse closes the curtain between us. She must have seen me crying. But I can still hear those screams. Not just screams of pain, but something else. Something like relief. Solace to all those fears that have been put to silence. All those sleepless nights spent cradling my abdomen in my arms. Feeling him kick and squirm beneath my palm. He was like a beautiful flower. Sprouting out from within me. I fostered him and cared for him, loved him. So how come my flower never bloomed?
Then all at once, her wailing ceases, replaced by another's cries. Those young, tender lungs, not yet exposed to the harsh air. Thin, dainty fingers grasping for stability. The mother cradles him in her arms, the father reaches down to stroke his unblemished cheek.
Cade Palmer is a freshman at Marin School of the Arts in the Creative Writing Program. He is fairly new to the writing world but is excited to experiment and learn more. This is his first flash fiction/micro fiction piece.