Birth

All are born into violence. All birthed by pain and bloodshed, by war. 


The woman peered out of her window. Outside there were fires on the ridges and rain-soaked battalions marching in their light. She turned and set her eyes on her room, on the bed of hay and walls of stone. Swollen and stretched with new life, she sat in exhaustion. Her mind spun with fear and hope; of the battle outside and the baby inside of her. She whispered words of life to her unborn, and as she did she felt a pain sharp like a spear and saw a puddle below her. She cried out in the night. 


At once the man leapt from his table, hearing the woman’s scream. He ran to her door and when he opened it his face went white as a dead man. Before him laid the woman, drenched in sweat, writhing in agony. She called to him and he knelt at her bed. He smoothed out her hair and wiped her brow with his sleeve. Again she screamed, feeling the infant forcing its way out of her. She gnashed her teeth and pushed from the depths with all her strength, and as she did the man saw the boy’s crown emerge. Heaving, shrieking, and weeping she worked to birth the offspring like a machine, beautiful and horrifying. 


After an eternity, the spawn came forth. Eyes wide open, an otherworldly peace was about him. The man pressed his hand on the tiny being. Breathing, living. He unsheathed the blade at his side and cut the tether from mother and son. Outside, lightning struck the earth. He washed him with water and wrapped him in white. He held him in his arms and as he looked upon him his eyes welled up and he breathed a deep sigh. With pride he presented the gift to the woman. "Gavin", the mother said as she beheld the child. "His name is Gavin."

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