The

Running Wild

In Uncategorized on 28 April, 2011 at 7:09 pm

Only the sound of a bird outside the blocked window causes her to realize she’s been laying awake in the bed. The nightmares had effortlessly turned into conscious thought. She turns her head, ever so slightly to the left, pressing her warm cheek against the pale skin of Matheus. She allows herself a stolen moment to breathe in his scent, relaxing in his arms, for once happy about the quiet darkness of the house.

A smile slowly forms across her lips as she hears the sounds of laughter from farther down the hall. In an instant, she is at the door to the nursery, staring in wonder at the small child who is lost at play with her toys. Most people are awarded years to get used to motherhood. To watch their children grow. Most people…

She closes her eyes briefly, having to once again remind herself she is not a “person.” She never was. She never will be. The fire that flows from her, the nearly toxic blood that runs through her veins, is a living testament to that.

Sliding down to the floor, her back against the wall so as not to interrupt the fantasy world that is emerging in the happy babble of the baby. A ray of the dying sunlight hits the diamond that weighs heavily on her left hand. The glass-like surface ruined by a drop of blood, a tear that dropped last night as a future was discussed. A way to fight the fates.

But she’s been fighting the fates already. Speeding, as usual, past all the roadblocks and stop signs that leapt out at her. She saw no problem when all the lights turned green, never realizing that it would be that much harder to put on the breaks when she saw the road end.

And now the fates were fighting back. She had taken a family, and the fates had taken her sister. She had taken human friendship, and the fates had destroyed it. And now, she had emerged with a daughter, and the fates were rushing to take her back. What would happen if she took Mat’s last name?

Was there only one way to left to fight back? She had a losing hand of cards, but what if she switched to a different game? Throw down the cards and pick up the dice.

The blood on the diamond should have been an omen. But she was taking it as a sign, and hoping fate wasn’t any good at gambling.

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