As part of a flash fiction competition, a story based on identity and a song title had to be submitted – mine got to the final (to see the winner, look here http://jukeboxstory.wordpress.com/winning-story-april-2014/). This was my entry…
Blood and screams and terror. I don’t know what to do or how to help. I’m pushed this way and that, people shouting at my inept body expecting physical and emotional response. I see hands working; professional hands, focused on preserving and sustaining life. I can’t remember how this all began, I just know I’m here and I have to act. I grab the hand of the woman; her face is contorted with pain and the horrendous effort of remaining conscious. She looks at me pleadingly, but I don’t know how to fix it, how to make it stop.
It ends. Silence reigns temporarily, before it is conquered by a high-pitched wailing. The professional passes the wailing to me, and I suddenly know how to fix it. I proffer a finger, I rock my bundle, I bask in glowing rosy cheeks. I hold beauty itself. I know I will defend her with my life; endure the pouring rain of darker seasons; fix her broken smiles. My life has existed for three decades but it didn’t begin until today. She will be treasured, she will be protected, and she will be loved.