Fic a Week 8 - You Ruined Everything
May. 9th, 2009 02:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pauraque_bkI woke up this morning and had this fully-formed in my head; maybe I dreamed it? Good thing too, since I had written absolutely zilch otherwise.
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You Ruined Everything
She wakes up in the dry dark night, and it is crying again. James is already gone from her side; she can hear the low soothing tones of his voice from the other room, in the breath-spaces between jagged wails. Blaring calls that mean nothing to her except milk leaking in evolutionary sympathy from her sore breasts. She lies still and exhausted, staring up at the ceiling, letting her shirt get wet with it.
Through her painful vagina (or "birth canal" as they said, as though her vagina wasn't what it was), this creature came, leaving her hollowed-out and empty. And it is nothing but raw unshaped need -- it isn't done, put it back, oh god. Why can't people be like a newborn colt, standing up on shaky wet-furred legs after an hour or so, ready to run with the herd.
At last the baby's cries sob to a halt, and James shuffles back into the room. He sees her awake, but doesn't say anything. He gets back into bed and rolls over.
She cannot go back to sleep, so she slips away and takes the broom out. Up and up, soaring around the dead new-moon sky, wind howling in her ears and her breasts and cunt aching. This is what she thought of, when they told her she was going to be a witch: A glorious hag, free and against the world, against dullness and normalcy.
She sails over Godric's Hollow, and she thinks about not going back. Escaping somewhere safe and away from this, away from the hands of death that constantly threaten, and away from grasping baby arms that try to cling to her neck and her body. Her body...
She comes back into the house with her face numb, hair full of wind. The house now feels even smaller, dark and closed-in.
She goes into the baby's room, and he is quiet. She's surprised when she looks down and his eyes are open. She wants to see some kind of intention to it -- perhaps a smile of wickedness, some ken of what he's done to her. He only yawns, unformed, like an animal.
She sits down heavily in the chair, slumps down.
"I would have been fine without you," she admits to the silent room.
They look at each other through the bars of the cot, and he... he looks so trusting.
When Harry looks at her, he never looks afraid.
.
++
You Ruined Everything
She wakes up in the dry dark night, and it is crying again. James is already gone from her side; she can hear the low soothing tones of his voice from the other room, in the breath-spaces between jagged wails. Blaring calls that mean nothing to her except milk leaking in evolutionary sympathy from her sore breasts. She lies still and exhausted, staring up at the ceiling, letting her shirt get wet with it.
Through her painful vagina (or "birth canal" as they said, as though her vagina wasn't what it was), this creature came, leaving her hollowed-out and empty. And it is nothing but raw unshaped need -- it isn't done, put it back, oh god. Why can't people be like a newborn colt, standing up on shaky wet-furred legs after an hour or so, ready to run with the herd.
At last the baby's cries sob to a halt, and James shuffles back into the room. He sees her awake, but doesn't say anything. He gets back into bed and rolls over.
She cannot go back to sleep, so she slips away and takes the broom out. Up and up, soaring around the dead new-moon sky, wind howling in her ears and her breasts and cunt aching. This is what she thought of, when they told her she was going to be a witch: A glorious hag, free and against the world, against dullness and normalcy.
She sails over Godric's Hollow, and she thinks about not going back. Escaping somewhere safe and away from this, away from the hands of death that constantly threaten, and away from grasping baby arms that try to cling to her neck and her body. Her body...
She comes back into the house with her face numb, hair full of wind. The house now feels even smaller, dark and closed-in.
She goes into the baby's room, and he is quiet. She's surprised when she looks down and his eyes are open. She wants to see some kind of intention to it -- perhaps a smile of wickedness, some ken of what he's done to her. He only yawns, unformed, like an animal.
She sits down heavily in the chair, slumps down.
"I would have been fine without you," she admits to the silent room.
They look at each other through the bars of the cot, and he... he looks so trusting.
When Harry looks at her, he never looks afraid.
.
