This is a short story I wrote ages ago, but still one of the best things I have done so far.
A Short Story
By James Hall
Shannon was shaking as she stood, amniotic fluid slowly traversing the contours of her thighs. A spasm shot through her abdomen, and tears leaked from her blood shot eyes. She sniffed up some escaping mucus and let out another sob; if only she could see the state she was in, but in the darkness, she could see nothing. Her boney fingers, undernourished, wiped the tears from her cracked cheeks. The wetness was becoming uncomfortable, and it felt like she was burning between her legs. In the darkness, her arms reached to find a wall, or perhaps the door, but she could neither find or see anything. Her swollen belly gave another kick, she knew it was soon time, and that the one thing in the world she needed right now was a hospital. Don’t be stupid, her thoughts told her, you’re on your own, and no one is going to help. She would have this baby, here, in the dark, alone, with risk of infection or even death, to both of them. Shannon had still not decided if she wanted the baby to survive or not, her thoughts torn between love and hatred for the child, and despair of bringing a child into her current, hopeless situation. Many a time had she thought of punching her stomach, hurting herself and the baby, to prevent any further suffering, but could never carry it out. As she shuffled forwards, each movement causing discomfort, her skinny protrusions fingered the wall; mentally cursing the fact that it was night-time, and that the only window was devoid of light. Her hands followed the wall, as she moved closer, looking for something to latch on to. A shriek of pain engulfed her thoughts as her left toe collided with the stone latrine. Trying to compose herself, she cautiously bent down and carefully lowered herself onto the makeshift toilet.
“Help me, you bastard.” she cried.
“Where the fuck are you”.Continue reading “Captive Birth”