A Storm to End All Storms

Mood: shirred

In honor of my birthday and Mother’s Day, here is what I remember of my birth experience:

I LEFT MY MOTHER long before my body was so violently torn from her.  Her pulse quickened as I floated in that deep, visceral sea of primordial soup, the calmness of which had transformed into endless waves and reverberating sounds of ferocious thunder.  Sloshing back and forth, back and forth, to the point of nausea.  A storm was brewing unlike the squalls we had experienced before, so I buried my head deep within the muscular floor that supported my world, knowing my mother would protect me as she always had.  But something was different this time—an opening formed in that seabed and a blinding light shone through what I thought was an impenetrable atmosphere.  A volcanic eruption of such great magnitude to destroy my entire environment spewed its hot magma from within, draining my sustenance and safety along with it through the opening.  The light became brighter, directed right at me as the alien beam selected me for extraction.  I was not going to give up my world so easily—my mother needed me as much as I needed her, and together we had created our calm, peaceful world of flavor and song and sleep and love.  I knew I was stronger than that pathetic beam of light, so I anchored my legs deep within what remained of the floor, which I could see now was made of the same muscular substance as my own body.  I felt a deeper appreciation for my mother, who had created me from her own tissue; we were one and the same.  I was not scared.  I was angry.  Those motherfuckers were going to have to tear my lifeless body out of my quickly disintegrating habitat—and that’s exactly what they did.

Long after my domain had been drained empty, the eruptions and hemorrhages continued from an otherworldly place.  The thick discharges were like my own—warm, red, and life-flowing—I knew these were expulsions of my mother’s very life-sustaining existence because they were not like the cold, metallic, deathly sharp things that were tearing us open.  I was scared my mother was being destroyed by those outside forms, but when I saw her secretions plugging up and repairing the hole from which the Others were trying to enter, I knew she was trying to protect me.  My mother flowed and flowed until the light beam no longer shone through the opening and all was dark again.  But all was not right—I did not have my sea of safety, and suddenly the light beamed in from above instead of below.  This counterattack wasn’t coming from a gaping hole, but a small slit that was slowly elongating to expose more light and metal and coldness.  As the slit grew wider, I felt myself being drawn up toward the light and being sucked through the slit into a cold, harsh place.  I saw my body the first time—a motionless, gelatinous mass of flesh still anchored in that sinewy floor.  Surrounding my evacuated body, I saw my mother’s true form.  She wasn’t just an ethereal collection of energy from which all life flowed—she was a delicate, larger version of myself.  I didn’t see any other signs of life within her.  Was I really the only being supported by such an enormous amount of strength and vitality?  I knew I had to get back into my body to survive so all my mother’s efforts to sustain me wouldn’t have been for naught.

I watched from above as the cold, white beings continued to open my mother, peeling back layers of skin and cutting through muscle to expose my body’s habitat even more.  I couldn’t understand their speech, as they weren’t speaking the fluid, pulsating language of my mother, but I knew they had no regard for her life.  They were only trying to detach me from my stronghold, after which they would they dispose of my mother’s body in the black fabric bag that was lying next to her.  Maybe they thought she was already dead, but I could still hear and feel her pulsing energy—screaming to me, silent to the Others.  They were tearing her open with such imprecision and carelessness, desecrating this sacred vessel with no respect for the life-creating power it held. They knew they wouldn’t be closing her back up.  They knew this being would never again create life.

With their cold, lifeless tools, they severed my body from my world.  I saw my body coming closer to me as they pulled it out of the abysmal cavity they created in my mother.  One of the Others was holding my still, quiet body upside down by my ankles, slapping and pinching and prodding at me.  I was the only one in the room looking at my mother, who was still silently screaming and fighting.  I didn’t want to return to my body that was no longer connected to my life-source, but I knew that the only chance of diverting the Others’ attention away from me and back to my mother was if I reunited with my body again.  Instantly, my body and my being collided with one another in a snapping motion, and I felt all of the burning lights and cold edges and dried sticky ooze penetrating into me.  A primal shrieking sound came from deep within me that sounded much like the Others’ speech—I was becoming one of them.  One of the Others whisked my body away into another space.  It was a hard, transparent box through which I could see all of the lights and movement, and I knew I would never feel the dark, beating, fluid safety from my mother again.  I thought I was going to have to remain in that box forever, and I became accustomed to the light and the loneliness, wrapping myself in my own body as much as I could.  When the Others finally opened the box back up, it didn’t contract and rip and erupt like my natural habitat—it opened cleanly and simply, and I was placed into the world of the Others where I never saw my mother in the same way again.

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