{and I'll post if I want to}

* a birthday treat for you all. A story of mine that was rejected for the MACHINE OF DEATH anthology. The premise behind this anthology is that all the stories are in a future where there is a machine that, after analyzing a blood sample, tells you how you are going to die. The story I submitted was called Stillborn (all stories had to be titled after the death that was predicted). I've since edited it, trying to get rid of the sappy stuff that I think held it back from being accepted. I think it works a bit better know, and I hope you enjoy my faliure! *|
“After your death you will be what you were before your birth.”- Arthur Schopenhauer



I feel my mom place her cool hands on my hot forehead, and I am pulled out of the dark forest. I had been running around thick tree trunks, surrounded by the dark. As I ran my stomach hurt, over and over. I was sure I was being hit again and again by someone I couldn't see. An invisible football player, becuase I was holding a footbal. So I ran as fast, ut the forest went on forever. No matter where I went it was the same treetunks, the same darkness, and the same player hitting me. The last hit pulled me to the dirty ground. I closed my eyes. That is when I felt mom's cool hands.
I can hear the rain on the window, and opening my eyes, see that light is starting turning the sky a dark blue. I smell of mint tea. That feeling is my nose already making me feel better after that horrible dream I had had so many times. I notice that mom has been talking to me quitely:
"You know why I tell you this story all the time, right
I looked up at her, and close my eyes and say: "because its our super secret, and so we can only share it with each other." Like always she puts out her pinky finger, I gab onto it with my hand and shake it until she pretends like I'm hurting her because I'm so strong. I decide to shake as hard as I can. Her eyes widen, and then glare at me. I let go because I'm sure I am hurting her, ripping off her finger, and now I am in big trouble. She smiles and I know she has tricked me again.
Even though I had made this promise over and over, the truth was that I had never heard our story all the way to the end. You see, my mother only told me this story whenever I was having trouble falling asleep. I would always close my eyes and listen to the quiet sounds of her voice. I guess she is telling me our story to help me fall back asleep, which I always had, but today is different. Her cold hands hold mine tight and her words sound strong.
"When the doctor told us it nearly broke me. I swear honey, it almost did. Here I was sitting there, knowing you were somewhere in my belly, when that damn nurse walks in and I could tell from her face that I was going to lose you. She gave me the results of your blood test, and right there on the top in big black letters is the reminder that the machine is never wrong, and I swear I could feel my heart breaking.
But this is where your story really starts babe. You see every mother-to-be's worst nightmare is going in for the blood test and then reading that their baby is going to die because of 'terminated pregnancy'. It doesn't matter if the baby was sick, or if the mom was sick, or if the baby wasn't going to make it through labor, or even if the mom was going to fall down the stairs and bash her belly, the test always showed 'terminated pregnancy'. That's because the test tells how the baby is going to die, and so if the baby is not going to make it for whatever reason, the machine will always just say 'terminated pregnancy' because it knows the parents will choose for the baby to die quickly in peace rather than letting it suffer, and having to suffer along with it. And the machine never lies. I've heard many stories babe, about parents trying to ignore the test, and trying to have the baby anyways. The end is always the same: the mother is in too much pain and the baby is in even worse shape, and so they give in to the future they knew would happen all along, and have to terminate. and once again the machine is right"
I sit up in bed with my tea, my stomach still hurting. This is the first time I have stayed awake this far into our story. How I could have ever fallen asleep so many nights to these gruesome details! Any time I ever heard other kids talk about the machine it always scared me to the bone. Maybe thats why I'd usually tune out the story, focusing instead on the soft waves of my mothers voice.
"But you were different, babes: right their on top of that sheet, instead of saying 'terminated pregnancy' it said that you be 'stillborn'. They told me that they ran the test three times (and they never did that), every time it told them the same thing: 'stillborn', which they said no one had ever seen before. And so even though I was sad and worried, I already knew you were special. Your dad didn't see it that way though. He was convinced, especially after talking to that damn doctor, that they should induce our labor as soon as possible, because the machine was never wrong. They wanted to kill you right then and there. I obviously differed in my opinion. Your daddy and I tried to talk it out, but he just couldn't stick around knowing what was going to happen to you. So from that day on it was just you and me."
I hold the empty mug in my hands because it was still warm. We watch droplets rolling down the glass, connecting with other droplets, and rolling down.
"Its funny, at the beginning I was so worried about what was going to happen to you. Every night, all I could think about was all the ways that it could happen. Over and over I thought about losing you, and I couldn't sleep, I felt like I was losing my mind. So I started reading to try and take my mind off the worry, and it worked sometimes. But then there were those other nights where I would go through whole books and then get up for breakfast still feel that worry pushing down on me. It was on one of those long nights that I came up with a little reading game to help me get through. You see babes I was reading a book of short stories, and I found that after every story I'd close my eyes and imagine that the story had been about us. I kept doing that over and over, until it got to the point where I wouldn't even wait 'til I was done the story, instead I'd change the characters to me and you as I was reading. And so if it was a story about a man who would talk to trees in his forest, I'd imagine that it was me sitting underneath your branches, talking to you. I did this for the whole book of short stories, and after every story you seemed a little more real, like we'd been together."
My mother thinks I am a tree? I would have to be a small tree I guess, but trees are big. I picture myself as a tree but all I can see was myself in a tree costume, with a hole cut out for my face. I liked how it looks. Maybe this was what she was thinking about. Maybe she is talking about Halloween.
"So I was playing that reading game with you one night because I couldn't fall asleep. I read this story about a prisoner who was sentenced to be shot in the morning. He was upset because he was only halfway finished writing a play, a play he felt it was his destiny to finish. So in the middle of the night he prays to God asking only for enough time to finish his play. So the next morning, as he's standing before the firing squad, waiting for the bullet, he realizes he can't move and thinks he's dead. He sees that the firing squad is frozen too. He can feel a drop of sweat sitting perfectly still on his forehead. Everyone is frozen, but his thoughts aren't. He's still able to think. So in his mind he finishes his play, down to the very last word."
What happened to the man after he finished thinking about his play? I don't wanna ask her now though. I am happy with her cold hands around mine, and her warm voice.
"So I couldn't help it, I put down the book, closed my eyes, and I prayed. Or I at least tried to pray. I had never, ever, prayed before. I didn't even know what to do with my hands. So I just put them out in front of me, open to the sky, and I tried to pray. But nothing came, I didn't know what to ask for. I knew, I knew beyond a doubt that the machine was never ever wrong. I hoped with all of my heart that it was, but I knew that it was always right. No amount of praying would change that. And so all that I asked from God then, was to give us our own story together, like the ones I'd always read to you. A story safe in our thoughts, so that you could know me and I could know you."
My mother's voice is a wave washing over me. I am underwater and I can't breathe. The bottom of the ocean is pitch black. I open my eyes and I am in the dark forest again. I am cold, colder than every before but sweating again. I am being hit by the invisible football player, but this time he has brought his teammates. I try to run, but I can't move. My arms and legs are frozen and I am stuck floating in the dark. I looked down at my hands and feet: they had no toes or fingers, they were just balls of flesh. It felt like the invisible team was inside of me, trying to rip their way out.
I can still feel my mother's cool hands. The pain pulls and pushs my chest, but the more I focus on her cold smooth hands, the more I can remember the warm pull of her voice. The more I can remember our story. I focused on it, and her hands holding mine. I think: I've heard the end of the story, so now I can let go.