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The words are all mine, most of the pictures are not. Some of the words are not mine either.

Wednesday, 6 April 2011

a short story about life and death

I have written a number of silly short stories as a simple exercise and have decided to put a few of them up on the blog.

Read it, dont read it..... whatever you like, but you are here now, so you might as well give it a bash.


Number one:

Child birth

Nothing can prepare you for the birth of your first child.

Everything seems to happen at once. First it the counting down of the days to the delivery date, but then OHNO! Her waters break – three days early.

You haven’t packed the overnight bag for hospital.

Is there enough petrol in the car?

What if all the doctors are paedophiles????

Wheres the cat gone??

Wait. Calm down.

Babies are born every day around the world and have been for thousands of years.

This is normal. The screaming is normal.

Just think....

And then it all goes blank. The memory cleans your mind of all thoughts. You suddenly find yourself in the hospital with no idea how you got there. The mother of your child is in the hospital bed and seems fine. Nurses are milling around you and you have a hot cup of coffee in your hand.

The chair you are sat is quite comfy and everything is going to be ok.

A quick look to the woman you love, followed by a small but all telling smile is received and acknowledged with a smile back at you and then it’s gone.

The smile fades slowly. Worry lines appear on her forehead. Sweat beads begin to fall down her face. Her mouth opens as if to scream but no noise comes.

The nurses act fast. The heart monitor beeps louder and with increased tension.
You stand up but don’t know what to do.

As people, many people run around you and push you out of the way; you spill your coffee on the floor.

As the hot liquid splashes on the ground your beloved roars with an unearthly cry of anguish and fear and pain.

Your legs are frozen. The world seems to stop and speed past you at the same time.

It is abundantly clear that something is terribly wrong.

A nurse ushers you out of the room and as the curtains close there’s is more screaming and shouting.

The nurses are now panicking. They too are starting to feel the fear. Like a smell that drifts across a corridor people are now peering out of their own rooms to see what the commotion is all about. But they too know something is terribly wrong.

Then silence.

A long and icy silence.

This is the noise of shock.

This is the sound of horror.


Louder screams and bangs and crashes.

There must be ten people in that room trying to deliver your baby. Your child.

And all you can do is stand there useless. Hopeless.

As soon as it started the noise has faded.

It takes couple of seconds before you gain the power of your legs again.
You take a few tentative steps toward the delivery room. The door is heavy. Something is blocking it.

You push harder and force your way in.

And there it is in all its glory.

There is blood everywhere. On the bed, on the walls, on your partner.

The woman you chose to help bring a new life into this world with covered in blood, ribcage open. The nurses too are now just pools of blood and ripped apart from themselves in piles all over the room.

But in the middle of this carnage stands a lone figure.

Your son.

And he’s got a knife.

you fucking wierdo!!!!

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