*
I am standing in an empty hallway, the screams of labour filling the compact space. A doctor rounds the corner, anxiously wiping away the collected sweat from his brow. He draws near, and from his worried face I realize my worst fear has come true. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for what he is about to say.
“I am so very sorry Mr Kingston, but there were... complications during the birth. She… did not survive. I'm sorry for your loss.”
I fall to my knees, praying that this was all just a dream, wishing that I could just wake up from this nightmare. The nightmare of losing my only daughter-in-law.
“Where is the husband... where is my son!?!”
The doctor takes a step back, no doubt recalling his training in dealing with grief-stricken family members. Palms upward -a sign of peace- he says, “He's in there, with the child.”
It feels like I have imagined his words. “The child survived… it's alive? Please, just give me that... please…”
The doctor, unsure if he is being addressed, answers just to be sure, “Yes, he's perfectly healthy. Actually, considering the difficulty of the birth, it's a miracle that there are no additional complications. Would you like to see him?”
A grandson, I have a grandson…. The gods have taken a life, and given one in return. I feel warm tears begin to roll down my face, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Clinging to his bleached lab-coat, I cry, for a child that would grow up without a mother, for a husband to live without his wife, and for a grandfather forced to watch from afar. After all… it would be too harsh on the lad, to make him bear my legacy of shame and banishment.
“No, I can't see him... Not now, maybe not ever. Tell my son that I love him. Tell him that I'm sorry, and that I pray for his forgiveness.”
The scene shifts, the white of the hospital hallway transforming into the golden light of dusk, while the polished floor beneath me collapses, reforming into a sea of sand. I can still feel the wetness upon my cheeks, and the shame of my cowardly decision. A light winks into existence, originating from the south, but I just can't bring myself to care. I know that I should probably be paying attention, but for the life of me, I just can't bring myself to do so.
The world begins to distort itself, as if it has somehow sensed that something was wrong. A small craft plummets from the sky, trailing smoke and fire. I turn away, I don't want to see what happens next. A loud explosion occurs behind my back, but I don't need to turn around to see what has happened. A large part of the fuselage flies towards me, a slave of momentum. I do not hesitate, nor flinch as it passes through me, its substance like that of a phantasm.
The collapse of this world accelerates and darkness begins to cloud my vision. I hear a sudden impact, one created when a frail, elderly body makes contact with a solid slab of rock. With the impact, the world begins to shatter, cracks running through the sky. The rising moon collapses, like a glass mirror breaking.
I hear a new-born babe begin to wail for its mother, a mother that it will never know. Something is wrong.
Everything feels weird, dreamlike. Pain flows from the inner reaches of my mind, as I collapse to the hospital floor. Hospital? The moment the thought arises a pang of pain forces me to my knees. I am once again huddling on the cold sand. The old man lying on the rock, bleeding from both ears, begins to warp in appearance before my very eyes.
In his place lies a woman, face covered by a white veil, sleeping the eternal sleep. A man, his figure muddled and inconsistent, kneels beside her, crying for his lost love. In his arms, a baby cries, the sound bringing a fresh flood of tears to my heart-broken face. The image of man and babe, crying together, follows me into the darkness that is now my thoughts.
The desert is gone. The hospital is gone. All that remains is darkness, and the incessant crying of the motherless child.
Awakening Page 82