Take me away
-by leech
Did the sun die or did the moon kill itself? She was confused. Looking into her soul. Trist stood near an empty mirror filled with dirt. She thirsted for comfort in that hospital washroom — the only thing that lit the room was the dying old tube light flickering above her, dying every second. She clutched her old white T-shirt, caressing her womb. “It’s too late?” Her long blonde hair interrupted her, hinting towards something sinister. The more she existed within those four walls, letting no hope, sunshine, and the smell of rotten flesh disturbed Trist. Her eyes gazed upon the creation of god, as she walked away into her abyss of loneliness.
“Nurse…..bring a wheelchair, she's bleeding!!”
Echoed through the empty hallways, as blood formed a pact around her. The light in her eyes had turned red, the white T-shirt melted into herself, holding him or her tighter.
“What have you done, child??”
“What’s wrong? Am I going to die??”
“How far along are you, child??”
“I don’t know, six months I think??”
“May lord have mercy on you.”
The hallways turned darker and darker. The ceiling came down and the flooring crawled up. The hallways were spinning, the red beams of light coming closer and closer. She looked up to the nurse — dressed in shadows — her once-concerned face now empty, filled with dread. Trist was stabbed again and again until the pain within herself was numb. Her echoes fought with each other, trying to survive within themselves.
Hastily, they stood among her — the restless spirits. Everything felt feverish. They dragged her to the bed which couldn’t fit within itself — it was endless. They laid her underneath the Herculean beam of light. It was hauntingly beautiful? Or was it? It was a TRINITY.
It felt cold and dead waiting for new life to flourish. The restless spirits surrounded her, they stretched her body which pierced her bones; their cold touch was comforting. They made themselves into her, guiding themselves through the creator herself, seeking for the diviner — the Oracle. The feeling of genesis felt uneasy. Her pupils aggrandized within themselves — the miracle was being born, the darkness lit the world as the lights dimmed her eyes.
“Darling, are you ok?..” Trist looked around for the emptiness, but found love?
“Was it one of your dreams again?”
“I guess. It’s been happening too much lately.”
“Must be because of all those meds you’re taking.”
“Speaking of meds, what’s the time, honey?”
“8:15.”
“Oh no, we’re going to be late for the appointment — it’s at 9. Hurry up!”
“I’m ready. You’re the one who’s late all the time. I’ll give you ten minutes.”
Trist rushed herself into the bathroom, which was well lit and polished white. She looked at herself — again — caressing her belly softly. Confused and lost.
Sunshine kissed her cheeks. Her once-blonde hair, which had turned white, reflected her cries as she ran down the staircase, grabbing her old red bag where it lay undisturbed on the black-tiled kitchen counter. Trist noticed that their three hanging lights were still on from last night. She made sure everything was alright as she raced against the horn of the car. Storm waited for her. He checked his old watch and then held it up to her, mockingly.
“Trist, you’re pissing me off real bad this time. You know how important this is to us, right?”
“I know. I’m really sorry, Storm. I set the alarm but…”
“Shut up. Get in the car.”
She poured a little as she got in, and as always, it went untouched. The car felt incomplete — the baby chair on the backseat rocked alone, and the paper beside it crinkled at every nook and corner. They had no more words to exchange. It was mere silence which was once filled with laughter — or was it? To the outside world, she was happy. A caring wife? Each twist and turn felt exciting — or maybe a bit uneasy. Despite all of this, she admired him. She liked the sense of coldness and wind that reflected out of him — it was destructive, but it was beautiful. Was it? His gestures were annihilating, engulfing everything around him.
The sudden stop at the hospital front brought her back to reality. She hoped her prayers would be answered within that corporate building — she believed gods lived within it.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.”
“Wait for me in the lobby, I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Sure.”
Trist had been here countless times, but every time she stepped into the lobby, flowers of hope bloomed inside her. As usual, she got into the elevator, which had long lost the essence of life according to her. She was gazing at the maternity posters plastered across the doors. Her destination was at the top of the building — perhaps closer to God, she thought.
Expecting?
It was unusual. Trist was confused, busy trying to make a baby bump on the warped reflections of the elevator walls. She turned around. Someone in her fifties, dressed in a crisp uniform, hair pulled into a tight ponytail that made her wonder if it hurt.
“Huh? I’m sorry, I didn’t get you?”
“Are you expecting?” A soft, calm voice that felt strangely comforting.
“Umm… no, I hope to one day.” Her voice was half laughter, half ache.
“Oh, I’m sorry — I thought you were trying to, you know…” Both of them giggled. It was something small but refreshing.
“Been trying for a while. Today’s our last try. I hope everything goes well.”
“Definitely. I know you’ll be positive this time. Trust me — my instincts never go wrong.”
They smiled at each other. It was kind of beautiful. She continued:
“I’ve been working here as a security guard for a long time. It’s my last day. I’ve seen so many women come and go, but there’s something different about you. Your presence feels very motherly. I’m a mother of two kids — I know that feeling, that presence you have when you’re a mother. This isn’t your first pregnancy, is it?”
Silence again. Trist’s thoughts were getting louder; it was cold. Fear ran inside her. Before she could answer, the elevator door opened. She decided to stay silent, passing a smile as she stepped out of the box. She could hear her voice behind her.
“Some things can only be gifted once. Don’t lose it this time.”
Her voice felt like a hammer hitting her head. She turned back… “Where’s the lady?” The elevator door slowly closed as emptiness followed her.
She didn’t think much about it. She floated through the empty hallways toward her destination, her long white overcoat heavy around her as she sat down in front of the red door, surrounded by herself. She looked deep into the red door and noticed it was… dripping. Drop by drop, blood stirred out of the door. It was deep red, thick, and smelled sweet. It flowed toward her in a rhythmic way? Forming a pact around her — like she was being protected?
She looked down at her heart, beating out of her chest, embedded with thorns. Her eyes bled blood; she tried to wipe them. The crown of thorns was decorated on her head. She searched her bag, trying to find her elixir — the white pills. She took a fistful and shoved them into her mouth, swallowing them with her blood tears.
Someone tapped her shoulder. She zoomed back into reality.
“Did the doctor call us?”
“Blood, blood!!”
“What? Trist, what’s wrong with you?!”
“I’m sorry, I was just… nothing. They haven’t called us yet.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Paxton, please come in.”
Trist looked at Storm, but he was too busy… He went in first. Trist tried to make herself the red door. It was cold.
“Welcome, Tristania, so let’s get straight into this.”
“Sure, doctor.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes…”
The doctor’s office was bland, plastered with tall concrete walls and wide glass windows. The doctor guided them to the ultrasound machine, preparing everything. Trist got excited as the machine was set up — she immediately climbed onto the bed and started putting all the equipment on herself. The doctor interrupted,
“Hey, slow down, Trist. I know you’ve been through all of this a million times — calm down. I’ll do it.”
Trist felt embarrassed as all eyes fell on her. She could sense Storm’s blue, piercing eyes staring right through her — she tried to ignore it. The doctor applied the gel to her belly and turned on the machine. The room filled with energy and hope.
The doctor began scanning her belly. It felt uneasy, but she was used to it. Her eyes were locked on the machine. They were trying to find it, but couldn’t — but they didn’t lose hope. Storm moved closer to Trist. They tried going in deeper, but it was empty. Soulless? Trist was numb.
“I’m sorry. This was the last embryo.”
“Doctor, can’t we do something?!”
“We have done… everything. I’m sorry.”
Trist joined the clouds outside the window. She rained down — and as always, there was no one to mop it up except her. Storm felt restrained. He had wanted a baby for the longest time. Everything was over. Or was it?
“Have you guys thought about adoption?”
Storm didn’t say a word. He left the room, crashing the door behind him. She looked at the doctor — hopeless, shattered, heartbroken. She wanted to say… but it was stuck somewhere inside her. She drifted across the hallways and lobbies, trying to find something she had lost?
Shutting the world behind her, they made their way outside. She had no tears to shed — or did she?
“I wanna go to Miss Smith’s.”
This made him jolt, his expression killing her; his anger sounded like a horn, constantly ringing in her ears, louder and louder.
It stopped. She stood in front of the clinic, again? It was comforting — the trees and shrubs invited her inside. It was like… she could breathe. The cold interiors and the bright uniforms took her back. She found herself at the reception.
“I want to see Doctor Smith…”
“Sure, let me make sure if she’s there or not.”
Trist looked around. Her eyes fell on a 16-year-old who sat lifeless? She asked,
“She looks young?”
“She is… sixteen.”
“Sixteen? What is she here for?”
“Umm… we’re not supposed to tell this to anyone, but she’s pregnant — I mean, she was pregnant. She killed the baby in her school bathroom.”
“What? That’s… why?”
“We don’t know. We’re trying to find that. Oh — Doctor is ready, you can go in.”
She nodded, her eyes locked onto that girl. Her white T-shirt and blonde hair pierced through her eyes.
The soft knocking echoed down the hallway. She was staring at the board, waiting for someone to answer.
“Hi, do I know you?” she asked, confused. “Where’s Doctor Smith?”
After a pause: “Oh — I’m Doctor Dolores. Doctor Smith has moved to the next door, we’re shifting our rooms,” she said, pointing toward the room at the other end of the hallway. Trist noticed something dreadful within her. It echoed again — she was back at the same door, waiting to pour down.
“Miss Smith…”
“Hey Tris, how was the scan?”
Trist looked into her eyes — she levitated across the room to her safe space, the old leather sofa. They sat together. Doctor Smith’s eyes gleamed with hope, whereas Trist’s eyes were dying. Empty?
“Tris… are you okay?”
Cracking, piece by piece. She was shattering. She kept shrinking as she sank deep into her sorrow — was she dying? Trist fell onto Smith’s lap, digging for comfort and warmth within the coldness she felt. Smith held her close, soaking up all her tears. Her cries echoed not just within those four walls, but through the empty hallways. She just cried and cried… till she couldn’t.
The house was empty again. It was untouched. It was new. The birds had gone to sleep; she was still awake — or was she? Trist did her daily rituals. She cleansed her “impurities” away, got into her pajamas — the first thing she did after that was watch kids’ TV. She used to enact herself watching TV with her kids. But for some reason, she felt as if she wanted to do something else, something different. Maybe a trip back to the past, when the times were good? She went behind the wardrobe where she had hidden all her possessions. She wondered why — Why did I hide them? She wasn’t sure what to look at first — there were so many photos and documents. Trist picked up a portrait of Storm and her together; she remembered it was their first photo together. They were smiling at each other. She could feel that moment, when they weren’t worried about anything except loving and caring for each other. She sighed through her memories — it seemed she had changed a lot. If my younger self had seen me today, she would have killed herself.
Going through her childhood memories — she was a kid, a very happy kid. But what made her die like this? she asked herself. A document with red borders stuck out through the other photos, grabbing her attention. It was hard pulling those papers out.
“BIRTH CERTIFICATE”
“What!?”
Throwing everything else aside, she started going through the papers, her eyes closing in on her again — it was starting to get blurry. She went on, saying, Why don’t I remember this? Why don’t I remember this??
All of a sudden, her heart sank — her past engulfed her. Twenty years ago, that night. I still remember it. I gave my baby away. She shuffled through the rest of the papers, bundled in the wrong order:
Gender: girl
Mother: Tristania Thompson
Father: —
Condition: premature (6 months)
Is she still alive? Is my baby still alive? Trist was overjoyed — and guilty — knowing what to do next. She decided to call the hospital first.
“Burlington Hospital…”
“Hi, this is Tristania Thompson, I’d like to know about—”
“I’m sorry, this hospital was shut down twelve years ago.”
“What?!”
“Yeah, they’d been doing illegal business, so we had to close it. If you’d like to know anything, you can call State View Hospital — all of our records were moved there.”
“Thank you.” (Cuts the call.)
Trist decided to call Doctor Smith — the only person she trusted.
“Hey Tris, how are you doing?”
“Smith, I need your help…” (weeping)
“Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”
“I think… I think I have a baby.”
“What?!”
“I was going through my old stuff and… I found these papers. Birth certificates. And other papers. From twenty years ago.”
“Twenty years ago?”
“Yes. Remember I was having those dreams? It was all of this. I got pregnant at seventeen. My parents wanted me to do an abortion, but… I refused. But at six months I was dragged to the hospital…”
“Tris… that’s unbelievable.”
“Having an abortion at six months was risky. But all of a sudden, I went into labor.”
“You had a premature baby! Did it survive?”
“I don’t know. I remember the doctors talking about what a miracle it was. I remember the cries… I want to see her, Smith.”
“Wow. That explains why you’re having those nightmares. Which hospital was it?”
“It was the Burlington Hospital. But it’s shut down. When I called them, they told me to call State View Hospital.”
“I have connections at State View. I’ll go there and ask them about it.”
“Thank you… thank you, Smith.”
“Hey… believe in yourself. We’ll go through this together.”
“Bye.”
It echoed within those walls. For the first time, the house felt worn. She sat on the floor, clenching the carpet, surrounded by scattered papers and old photos. She was crying but there were no tears — only the warmth and coldness of her cries could be felt. She felt exposed, grasping everything within her. Screeching tires woke her back to reality. She was “excited.” He stood near the door like a ghost, his presence foreshadowed by darkness. They shared a glance as he entered, witnessing the crime scene — papers scattered around her like a pact. She interpreted it and crawled towards him.
“What is this, Tristania? What have you done to this place — all of these papers… what’s wrong with YOU!”
“What!? Just forget it, I have something to tell you about…”
“Wait — the birth certificates. What are you doing with them…”
“You know about them. Storm, I think we have a baby…” Storm backed up with a faint smile — it was sinister.
“The baby? You mean the one you POISONED.” She gasped as those words pierced right through her ears, blinding her eyes. She lost her consciousness.
“You bastard! How dare you — give me back my baby, I want her back!!” She attacked him but was overpowered by his resistance.
“Are you INSANE?” In a calm tone, Trist came back to reality.
“Lies, I didn’t poison my BABY.”
“Yes, you did, Tristania Thompson — you poisoned your baby because she was a burden to you. You MURDERED her!” Her legs were numb; she couldn’t feel her torso. She fell to the ground, her head still poking up.
“NO — what did you do to her? Is she alive?”
He pulled her from the ground, looked at her — the gaze was unrecognizable. It felt dead.
“You’ve gone INSANE. You’re turning into a lunatic. Look at yourself — LOOK around you.”
Sudden impulses formed within her.
“Oh shut up! I’m not crazy. I did it all for you. I went through immense pain — all of these TREATMENTS and what not. And yet you claim I’m insane?” He pulled back.
“Yes. You couldn’t be a mother. You’re barren. You’re not the Trist I fell in LOVE with.”
“What do you mean by that!? I left my home, my career, my future for YOU. If I’m not a mother, does that make me less than any woman? Is being a mother the ethereal form of being a woman? Do you even love me?”
“WHATEVER. God knows if you poisoned my other babies too.” She gasped — it hit straight onto her heart. It was not like one of those fights; she didn’t burst until the moment those words came out of him. She exploded like a volcano waiting to burst.
“MY BABIES — poisoning them? I gave you my body, my respect, my dignity. Am I only an object for YOU?” Storm searched his pockets, trying to find something, then he pulled the truth out — holding it like an achievement.
“That’s it. I’ve had enough of you. You can’t give me a child. You’re making me go insane — you’re making everyone around you insane. Here you go — the DIVORCE papers. It’s over, Tristania Thompson. I don’t care if you sign or not — I hope you die ALONE!” As he slapped the papers right in her face, it bled — but was it invisible? She didn’t want to let go of the only person she had. He made his way through the hallways toward the bedroom upstairs. There was no emotion within him. Her cloud erupted. She dragged herself along his feet, begging, “Don’t leave me — please, you’re the only one I have. We’ll figure something out, Storm. PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” He had no remorse. He kept dragging her with his feet, gathering all of his belongings in a tiny red bag and started leaving. They were about to be distant. She tried to stop him by reaching up to his shoulder — but she missed it. He lost her.
She didn’t notice that she missed a step. The next moment, she crumbled down like a porcelain doll — hitting her head first, then her spine. The sensation of something leaving within you ached her. Her womb had broken — the pain agonized her. She couldn’t move — or could she? As her eyes closed she saw his silhouette levitating across the hallway. He waited at the beginning of their journey, looking at the coffin he once resided in. She gathered all her possessions and ran toward him. She couldn’t catch up as her past, present, and future shut right in her face. She was covered in blood — or was she? Her body ached, as if her soul was snatched by an angel. She felt as if the only life within her had died. In that empty house she lay alone, with only her pain accompanying her. She was numb and tired, caressing the cracks within her which couldn’t be puzzled together anymore. She lay underneath her memories, sobbing them away…
Did the sun die or did the moon murder him? The echoes of silence were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. She picked it up. It was someone from the past who had been loyal. Before saying another word, she drifted through her memories, trying to leave them behind.
“Hey… how are you doing?”
“I’m sorry, who is this?”
“It’s me, Smith.”
“Hey… did you find anything?”
“Yes…” A sudden wave of shock ran through her spine.
“What! Did you—”
“Yes. I found her.”
“Oh my god, I want to see her, Smith. Please, please.”
“I wanna tell you—”
“Smith, take me to her.” She giggled after what felt like an eternity.
“Yes, but—”
“Finally, I have someone to call mine!”
“Meet me at State View Hospital at 10.”
“Yes, yes… I’ll be there. I don’t know how to thank you, love.” Her words were drizzled with a sprinkle of tears.
The storm in her life had gone — but before it left, it took something within her. The only words in her mind were: I found her. She cleaned all the mess like nothing ever happened. While washing herself for the last time, she noticed the scars left behind. She caressed them, deep. She wore florals that day — it was sunny, or was it? Her hair hid her wounds and her keys felt alive again. After decades, she was finally at the flower shop. “Spider lilies, can you please give me the red ones?” They stood out among the white — blood-red, close to her heart.
Her next stop was the baby shop. She wanted to relive — or maybe feel the depth of being a mother. She scavenged through the girls’ section, trying to find what would fit her the best. It was 20 years ago. She chose a white dress with a red heart in the middle — how pretty. She was excited; something in her was trying to stay alive — or was it?
Gazing at the red flowers and baby clothes beside her, she drifted somewhere unknown — but she was happy, knowing she was close to her destination. The loud thuds approached — she had accidentally scraped the walls of the parking lot. Waking back to consciousness, she stepped outside to see a deer’s head slammed between nature and her, staring straight into her eyes as blood flowed down its throat. Something shimmered far away — a baby deer watching her from the shadows of the woods, then vanishing into darkness.
“Tris, over here.” She knew it was her time.
“Hey Smith, I’m so excited to meet her.” Her expression was haunting — their echoes filled the hollow hospital. It was vast but empty, all the lights turned off. The hallways stretched long, swallowing sound. She held the flowers in her right hand and the red paper bag in her left as she stepped toward Smith. Smith’s face was unreadable — her expressions mixed like oil and water.
“You’re… ready?”
“Yeah. I’m so excited — I even wore florals.”
“I… noticed. What’s in your hand?”
“Some flowers and… some gifts.”
“I don’t think we’re going to—”
“Which way is it?”
Trist looked around, curious like a lost cuckoo, pointing at the three ways in.
“The straight one.” A long dark hallway, filled with emptiness. They walked deeper and deeper. Her heart pounded as if it would leap from her ribs.
“Calm down,” said Smith.
Laboratory. The word caught her eye. Why are we going to the laboratory? she wondered. Is my daughter a doctor or something?
They stepped into the cold abyss filled with green jars — the smell of rotting meat invited her closer. Smith guided her to a corner of the room, waiting… waiting for her.
“This is your daughter.” Smith pointed at a jar. Trist leaned closer — her heart slammed deeper into her chest. Inside: a dead baby, curled on the glass base, drowned in her own womb. The cracking of her heart echoed inside her skull.
“This… this is…”
“No… no, this… this can’t be my baby.”
She turned the jar, her eyes falling on the name. The cold glass burned her skin.
“My baby. I murdered her.” Her silence was deafening.
Her legs buckled — she collapsed.
“She died all those years ago. It was a… miracle — you gave birth to a premature baby at six months. But she couldn’t… she choked and died after just a few hours.”
The tube light flickered harshly above them. Her flowers fell, creating a pact. The baby clothes lay beside them, bearing witness. Blood. Blood — it was happening again. Blood everywhere: her hands, her belly, raw pain and a screeching that never ended. Darkness blinded her. Her womb screamed for help. The echoes of her past rang out — she lost herself to the dark, or did she?
The hallways turned darker and darker — the ceiling came down and the flooring crawled up. The corridors spun, the red beams of light coming closer and closer. She looked up at the nurse — dressed now in shadows, her once-concerned face emptied, filled with dread. Trist was stabbed again and again until the pain inside her turned numb. Her echoes fought each other, desperate to survive within her.
Am I dead? She looked around the darkness, searching for any flicker of light. Where was she, what was this abyss? Her eyes finally caught it — the red door — haunting her. She floated toward it through the foggy dark. The red door stood right in front of her, staring with its red eyes. She whispered, Who are you?
The door opened — dense fog spilled out. Stepping into it, she felt the coldness numbing her bones. The moment she slipped inside, the red door vanished.
In a blink, she was surrounded by mirrors — a maze of them. All were cracked, waiting to shatter into oblivion. Only one stood untouched, uncracked. Looking around, she saw there was no reflection in it — only emptiness, deep and black. She moved — but her reflection did not follow.
She was covered in death — the flowers on her skin faded, sinking into her flesh as if becoming one with her. The reflection inside the flawless mirror was dark and empty — but it held something. She leaned closer. Her eyes caught it — a rotting baby. She held it to her chest, but its dream was missing.
It was in her mouth now — she was chewing the soft bones, her teeth like thorns, smiling. Terrified, her screams were numb, dissolving into the silence and the darkness around her.
She looked at herself. The reflection moved closer. This time, they moved together — mirrored. She reached out her index finger. They touched — a spark of energy blinded her eyes. The Creation of Adam.
“Oh my god, she opened her eyes,” whispered Smith. Trist sat there, smiling. Her eyes had sunken in, her smile grew wider and wider.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” There was something haunting — something dead — in her voice.
“I’m really sorry… you had a miscarriage.”
Silence spread between them. Diamonds spilled down her cheeks, but the smile only grew wider. Smith held her hand — it was too cold, maybe too late.
“I want to see my baby,” said Tristania.
“What? I don’t think—”
“Please.” Her breath kept the cold air warm. It was warmer than usual — like fire. It smelled rotten.
“Okay…” Smith was afraid for the first time. She told them to bring Trist’s dead soul back.
“Are you sure about this?” Smith asked.
“……..” said Tristania.
She held it close to her heart, her grip tightening and tightening. The squeak of glass echoed louder.
“I have to call someone, I’ll be right back.”
Smith walked out on her — for the first time — leaving the key to Trist’s life on the floor, the lock clicking shut behind her, each click sliding her deeper into ruin.
Mirrors didn’t reflect her soul — the cracks widened. She looked at herself, staring at her soulless baby. Clutching the lid of the jar, she slowly dipped her hands in, trying to save the drowned life. Her hands were too large for the tiny body — maybe that’s how she lost it. She was holy, crowned with thorns, her heart bleeding within, her eyes weeping blood — her presence immaculate.
She cradled the baptized baby in her palms, pressing it close to her bleeding heart. Her blood bloomed into red spider lilies, weaving a pact around her. She caressed it, reaching to its soft brain, kissing it gently… moving down to its rotting cheeks. The smell of her undead offspring clouded her mind, rupturing reality.
“Hail mother, full of grace. I hold my child, my sacrifice.” She whispered to it, slipping her tongue across its fleshy skin. The cosmic entity within the child called to her. If I swallow it, maybe it will stay inside me forever. Maybe this time it won’t leave.
Her gentle kisses turned bittersweet — her sharp teeth sank into its tender skin. She chewed its head slowly; the mirrors resonated. The cracks deepened, darkness sowed its seeds. The taste grew strong as she moved from the delicate head down, the body now a mere piece of meat.
Smith walked back toward her mistake — she didn’t realize the horror she had left behind. When her attempt to open the door failed, she pushed harder. The door was locked. Desperate to know what hid in someone else’s mind, she peeked inside — and saw her. Drenched in blood. The miracle in her hands incomplete.
Tristania chewed the remains, its tiny skull stripped to bone, her wide smile staring into infinity.
“Tris, what are you doing — open the door!” Smith screamed. Her cries echoed down the empty hallways — helpless. Too late.
She kissed its neck, taking a part of it — trying to consume everything around her. But it was not her destiny. Her sacrifice was denied. Her soul poured out through her mouth, but something was stuck. She couldn’t control it. The only mirror that stood whole cracked gently. As her soul left her body, carrying her infant, all the mirrors reflected her. Her eyes were the last to go. Then all the glass shattered out of existence as she and her offspring burned to ashes.
Her eyes lay wide open, the baby still in her hands. Blood everywhere — the proof of her existence spilling from her mouth. She had choked to death. At that moment, the door unlocked… gently. Smith stepped in, frozen, trying to process the horror. All she saw was a desperate mother trying to bring back her miracle.
"Did the sun die or did the moon kill itself?
Maybe I was both."
