8 March 2005 :: A short novel
5.15pm She packs up to go home..
Her heart was a tonne of bricks, her back puppeted by clients, her heart heaving. As she went through the blurring tunnel of noise and sight of the train terminal, she contemplated on unborn children, having discussed the subject with a colleague she'd met today after four years.
````
The train arrives, her heavy mass plonked on the train bench as the cushion gave way to her gravity. Her shoulder stiffer than the back of the seat, she remembered her God softly speaking through a song "Come to me all who labour and are heavy burdened, and I shall give you rest. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light". But it was her angel Eye that finally broke the scaffolding to her lungs, when
she thought of him sitting next to her, speaking to her, asking how her day was.
She pondered on that, why it is not her God that comforts her, but the Eye. The Eye, she thinks, is someone she relates to. Who wears suits like her, who takes care of clients like her, who works to deadlines like her, who is a pillar to the family like her. Who gently and kindly leads her back if she goes off in a tangent, despite being rough in the edges.
The thought released her from the chain of Labouring. She went into deep meditation, until the train arrives at her destination.
````
While she ate dinner, the news blared on Television of deaths, of an Italian intelligence shielding a reporter from bullet, of possible force by China should Taiwan insist on independance, and of the ailing Pope hopefully on road to full recovery. But it was not till later, that the death of an unborn shook her being and she wept and wept.. for someone she has not met.
````
Chelsea, the daughter to be for her surrogate brother and his wife, stillborn at seven months, declared dead yesterday. She could not believe the soul that was ripped from her Self, as though her own Child had been robbed of her Womb. The child she never wants to have herself, but sees in each mound of the many pregnant stomachs passing by, the girl she imagines skipping in her pink dress and giggling with ecstasy in the sun.
```
Suffering, the by product of free will given by Above. Due to the free choices we make. But what can be made of this - is it a choice we subconsciously make to kill an unborn. In the stress of the world absorbed, of anticipation and fulfillment of expectations by family, friends, parents themselves. Chelsea does not want to come out yet into this world. She doesn't blame her.
`````
Now she confronts her God, of that space between life and afterlife. She asks reflectively, was the Eye right? Life is what we have now, it is neuter-post mortem. For she certainly feels there is no further life, post the death of a Life that has not even penetrated earth. The vaccumous test tube she feels sucked and trapped in makes it hard to see beyond Blue..
Her heart was a tonne of bricks, her back puppeted by clients, her heart heaving. As she went through the blurring tunnel of noise and sight of the train terminal, she contemplated on unborn children, having discussed the subject with a colleague she'd met today after four years.
````
The train arrives, her heavy mass plonked on the train bench as the cushion gave way to her gravity. Her shoulder stiffer than the back of the seat, she remembered her God softly speaking through a song "Come to me all who labour and are heavy burdened, and I shall give you rest. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light". But it was her angel Eye that finally broke the scaffolding to her lungs, when
she thought of him sitting next to her, speaking to her, asking how her day was.
She pondered on that, why it is not her God that comforts her, but the Eye. The Eye, she thinks, is someone she relates to. Who wears suits like her, who takes care of clients like her, who works to deadlines like her, who is a pillar to the family like her. Who gently and kindly leads her back if she goes off in a tangent, despite being rough in the edges.
The thought released her from the chain of Labouring. She went into deep meditation, until the train arrives at her destination.
````
While she ate dinner, the news blared on Television of deaths, of an Italian intelligence shielding a reporter from bullet, of possible force by China should Taiwan insist on independance, and of the ailing Pope hopefully on road to full recovery. But it was not till later, that the death of an unborn shook her being and she wept and wept.. for someone she has not met.
````
Chelsea, the daughter to be for her surrogate brother and his wife, stillborn at seven months, declared dead yesterday. She could not believe the soul that was ripped from her Self, as though her own Child had been robbed of her Womb. The child she never wants to have herself, but sees in each mound of the many pregnant stomachs passing by, the girl she imagines skipping in her pink dress and giggling with ecstasy in the sun.
```
Suffering, the by product of free will given by Above. Due to the free choices we make. But what can be made of this - is it a choice we subconsciously make to kill an unborn. In the stress of the world absorbed, of anticipation and fulfillment of expectations by family, friends, parents themselves. Chelsea does not want to come out yet into this world. She doesn't blame her.
`````
Now she confronts her God, of that space between life and afterlife. She asks reflectively, was the Eye right? Life is what we have now, it is neuter-post mortem. For she certainly feels there is no further life, post the death of a Life that has not even penetrated earth. The vaccumous test tube she feels sucked and trapped in makes it hard to see beyond Blue..
posted by cherry at 6:15 AM
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