The child's cry echoed through the hallway; a stray dog matched her tone and bellowed out to the moon. Every second the clock, tic toc, tic toc, gave rhythm to a world that was off beat. I laid in the bed staring at the ceiling tiles, trying to make patterns from the patch job that covered my bed. I needed something to keep my mind occupied. The baby continued to scream, the pleas for food becoming louder and louder with each minute that passed. She was hungry. I was hungry. I waited another few minutes before I went into her room. There she lay, on an old pillow covered with a blanket that reeked of urine and just utter filth. No baby should have to be in this mess, but she was. We were, together. I wasn't in much better shape, and if I could have, I'd be screaming just as loud as she was. I actually thought about it as I slumped to the floor beside her. My tangled blonde hair swept in front of my face and I blankly stared at the strand for a few moments, remembering what had been, before I was snapped back into reality by her cries. I watched her for a few more minutes before I finally gained the strength to reach out to her.
My pale skin glistened in the moonlight as I shakily picked her up. She quieted after I nestled her against my chest. She was tiny; her little spine was becoming apparent. She was truly beginning to look like me. Her skin was pale as mine, but at least she didn't have the dark circles under her eyes or the bruises. At least she didn't have to deal with the emotional aspects of this world, not yet anyway. No, she was perfect in every way, except the malnutrition of course, but I was suffering just as she was. My stomach growled and my weight had to be at a maximum of a hundred pounds. How could I make the necessary milk for her if I couldn't even keep myself alive?
I snuggled her a little closer, and held her as tight as I could without hurting her. I wanted her to stop crying. I wanted her to be better. After what felt like hours of rocking, her cries faded as she drifted off to sleep. I sat her back down on the pillow which I found her on. She winced, but stayed asleep. I picked myself up off the floor, but soon slide back down. The floor was cold and during this summer heat, it was refreshing. The building we were in was not suitable for living. It was condemned ten years ago, but has never been torn down. The walls, well if you can call them walls, were barely standing with the wood rotted to where they almost didn't exist. Think gloomy, gray, old, and decrepit, all of those adjectives and you might come close to this dump, but it was shelter I guess and the holes in the walls let a breeze blow through. Woohoo, highlight of my life is holes in the wall of my "apartment". Some life.
The next morning I awoke well rested which is unusual for nights here, I actually even smiled as the memories of a good dream still lingered in my mind. It quickly faded as I seen her eyes looking at me. She didn't cry; she just stared. She had to be three months old now. I have lost track of the days, but her birth is one I'll never forget.
April 2, 2013. The pain started early morning and though I tried to pretend it wasn't happening, she was coming. I laid on the cool floor for hours, rolling and writhing in agony. When I had heard the stories of labor as a child I could have never imagined a pain such as this. My body stretched and ached and felt as though it was being ripped to shreds by this infant crawling its way out of my vagina. Pain from the deepest level of Hell is really the only comparison that comes remotely close. By the end of the first hour in labor, I was done and more than ready to have her out of me. She had caused me so much pain and now, now she pushes me into pain that surpasses even what the natural human body can with stand. How did she think I was supposed to do this, defy laws of physics kinda thing? It took a little over eight hours of intense labor before she made her appearance into this world. She cried then too, screaming more to the top of her lungs than ever. She didn't want to be here in the cold atmosphere of this planet we call home. I can't blame her, at that point I didn't want to be here either, but I stuck it out for her. When they handed her to me, I questioned if I wanted to hold her, to even see her, but with fears of regretting this moment, I scooped her up. Mysa, my salvation army. My poor attempt at creating a name for a child I'd never thought I'd be naming was evident, but I didn't care as our eyes locked, and I guess my maternal instincts reacted with strong emotion as tears leaked from my eyes. I was never one to cry, but the sight of this child that I gave life was just too much.
We locked eyes again as I came back from memory lane, and she still laid there staring at me with her big blue eyes. Those weren't mine. While she had my nose, chin, ears, and even hairline, she had his eyes. Piercing blue, and his weapon of choice. He was handsome. Yes, her father was many things, but handsome topped the cake. Think Ian Somerhalder and you've about got it. Prince charming, nonetheless, but unlike Cinderella my Prince Charming never came looking for me. No matter what he didn't do right, he did give me her.
She looks so innocent, cooing and even giggling as the hours past. I couldn't help but smile. Sometimes, no all the time, she was the only thing keeping me from ending myself. Her giggles soon left and she resulted back to screaming. My baby, my Mysa, please just stop. My words rang out through the rafters of the room and I waited out the tears until we were both fast asleep on the floor.