Hello, all ...

I wrote this awhile ago ... opinions welcome. I want to get more involved in this group, and will try to make Tuesday's meeting, assuming someone can tell me where and when :-)

***

Rain.

Rain pours from the leaves of the tree above it, like hundreds of soft-yet-cold fingers poking. It's fur saturated, it shivers in the night. It doesn't wonder why -- it can't -- but the synapses in it's brain speak of sadness, and this permeates it's every thought. It is not blessed (or cursed) with a gender, it is at most none and at least both, and though to it this means nothing, it somehow knows something is wrong. It's mouth suckles at air, it's lungs inflate shallowly like a balloon with a bad leak, and this sadness persists.

Like most newborns, it's eyes are not yet open. It tries to huddle, to find the warmth of siblings and mother, yet it's miniature claws find nothing, it's tiny legs barely move, and the rain continues to pelt it's tiny body. Slow exhales from miniature nostrils produce a sorrowful whine, a fragile heart beats erratically, a chest rises and falls frantically for moments eternal, the mouth opens as a nearly silent yet profoundly sad cry escapes, too weak to touch the ears of innocents who neither know nor care. An owl hoots from above, unaware of the suffering below.

... and still it rains.

A lightning strike, far too close, had scared the doe off as she was preparing to nurse her new offspring. Something inside her had warned her that things were not as they should be after the birth, but this was her only child, and her maternal instincts had just drowned out the dissenting thought when the bolt struck the tree that was their shelter from the storm. Widened eyes, a bright
flash and the crash of thunder shocked her, and her legs involuntarily swept her away, leaving her malformed child behind, alone in the night.

That was hours ago -- hours that marked their departure by the ever-shallower yet increasingly laborious breathing of the newborn. The heart which drummed erratically then beat much slower now, tiny nostrils which only hours ago hungrily took in as much air as the tiny, defective lungs could handle, now flared less and less. Miniature legs which vainly tried to propel it to his mother now barely moved, and the mouth and tiny tongue which hunted for milk a short while ago was now nearly motionless. Life, however short, was escaping.

A sudden scurry brought a nearby predator, bent on feeding on this dying whelp, but the scurry was met by another, much larger. A harsh cry rebounded off of the forest trees as the frightened predator ran off, and a large set of black eyes peered down at the newborn, recognizing it instantly. The doe lay down, positioned herself, exposed a nipple for her only offspring ... but the pup
didn't move, it's energy almost completely drained. The doe nudged the pup closer with her nose, then again, and the newborn slowly opened it's mouth and weakly latched on. It then opened it's eyes, met the gaze of it's mother ... and expelled it's last breath.

The end.

Regards,

John

Falling You - exploring the beauty of voice and sound
www.fallingyou.com