— ...Men truly are selfish beings. They say 'please don't come' as if anything is dangerous for a lady, no matter how big or small. Kids I understand, they are too young to deal with adult problems, like one of these last nights ago. Fratley came in to our bedroom and complained that he heard sounds whenever the room was dark. Something like an insect, to which he answered monster! With a shout hard to ignore, same for that face covered in fear and innocence... Kids and their imagination. In fact, it was a monster, but not as same way my son said, because Prescott went to his bedroom and got a cockroach by THIS size, stepped over it and made that filth. I could tell was shivering in fear, which he didn't admitted. At least, Prescott cleaned that filth, because if he asked for me to do it so, he would ever see me naked again.
The many things they say when nobody's listening... Before, eyes stared at us throught walls. A hundred soldiers to battle, a number which increases everyday for a kingdom of millions. It feels strange, a bit quiet, had not been for the rain. I feel retired, but I'm too young. The kind they like, said Sophia. She's right on her terms, but mostly I disagree for words barely told. That's what you should expect when your tongue feels a taste of freedom, followed of a cup of tea.
— I don't think men are the same. They may be all rats inside, but rats do not have homes to stay, or want a special place awaiting for them. If you don't have a peace of mind, you can't do anything at all, like killing a cockroach... a feeling which men try to fight out as much as they can. That's why... don't you think they're cute when they do that?
— For sure, Lenneth – Sophia said, adding honey to her tea, though the bitterness remained – they call us by ladies, do they? And when you least expect it, you are chained at the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.
— We are all chained in something, whether we like or not. There is always a struggle to be free.
— Do you used to feel free while in the air? – she asked. It feels like a long time ago since I touched the skies. Only weeks passed since I got new responsibilities.
— Without a ground, I can't walk where I want to, but this also takes my freedom.
— So in order to be free, a bit of us need to be caged.
— That's why we don't kill each other after not agreeing with what the other said – Sophia seemed to agree with me. Maybe what I said wasn't the right thing, but she nodded anyway.
— Do you have a name for the little one there? – she asked, looking below.
— Not yet. If it's a boy, or a girl – I said, before taking a slurp of tea.
— Or twins... – then I almost spilled it all over the table.
— Uh... Let's not exaggerate.
— Be fruitful and multiply, sayeth Bahamut – I couldn't tell if Sophia's smirk was ironic or not – strange how I don't miss Prescott that much. But still I feel this longing for his company at my side. I wanted his hand to hold onto mine instead of the pen, and hear words brought out his mouth than ink written on paper.
— At least, you know he's alright. As for Bart... I don't even know. He may be dead, but if that was the case, I should have been feeling something – other than my feet rattling ceaselessly.
— If Prescott is said to be dead, and for a reason comes back alive, I swear that I'll kill him – said Sophia, frowning and with a clenched fist. She tried to look tough – had not been for the kids...
— Hope Reis listen to our prayers. It's what we can do in meantime for they to come back safely.
— I can't tell they won't come without wounds.
— As long as there someone awaiting for their return, someone who cares... all wounds can be healed, Sophia.
I miss the days I held that spear in hands. Moreso, the days I held Bart and Jack close of my heart.
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♫U2 - An Cat Dubh/Into The Heart♫
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July 05, 1778
...
Funny how I am rather impressed about the way Lennie insists to act like mother used to do.
I woke up earlier in this morning, not that I wanted to, but the pressure of morning inside me told it so. After squeezing the lemon out of my vein, I came to the bed to sleep once again, and I holded of my pillow until I heard of a delightful voice, the same who told me a lullaby yesterday, who also pulled me out of the bed, whom Lennie had covered with an extra blanket later that night, for so I could sleep well.
For breakfast, I had been feeded by bread, milk and I even enjoyed the taste of oats in my mouth; when I was about to go outside, Lennie holded of my hand, as we walked up in the stairways, and so she changed my clothes, althought they do look like the same as yesterday, except that they had been washed and put all together in the cloth line, who hangs outside my house as much as a tree and something Lennie calls by kailyard also lies there. Although the rain waters a bit of our clothes hanging in that cord, they would be watered anyway, but somehow, they sure went dry in there, maybe due to the wind.
She also tightened my loose ribbon, not so much to prevent a later gangrene, and sudden decay of my dead tail. I never saw it happen with my both eyes, but imagination deserves a praise to create such image. And, like any mother does, Lennie told me to not talk with, follow or believe on strangers. By stranger, she refers to anyone else, besides me. No, I don't think so, because everyone would be a strange, even my cousin Dan, or my dear Fratley. I guess they aren't stranger people anymore, since Lennie knows about then, or better, their moms.
If so, that's fine for us. I am currently heading to somewhere else; just wandering here, there, up, down, left, right... I know there won't be strangers to be afraid of anywhere I go, since other people who Lennie knows are keeping an eye on me, and us as well. When I used to head to Dan's house, his mother kept an eye on both of us, if not the older brother of his. However, Lennie didn't said anything about these men who wear of such armors. Not Dragoon Knights, but officers of the King, members of the Royal Guard, who had been walking around the kingdom these days.
They had been interrogating us, kids, recently. I came across five of them since now, and they all asked the same question, and if I recall, it was something alike: 'Do you think those who passed away come back to life?', or so do I remember, this before I struck with another one of these guys, interrogating another child as well. Unlike other adults, they aren't strangers to be afraid of, but to be trusted instead. They are Royal Guards anyway, followers of a code, unlike many of us. I do follow of a code as well, though I do not seem to be a kind of help for those who need of a hand. These adults think we are the helpless ones, after all we had been throught. We even had been born as helpless people, to be taken care by their arms, until we could hold onto anything else with ours, besides themselves. This doesn't only apply on our arms and only, but the entirety of us.
Before I went in there, I saw a couple and a baby on the arms of the woman, presumably his mother, or so he and everyone else had been told of. They, counting the presumed father, or the male hanging with that lady, forcibly trying to make that infant, younger than an infant who learned to walk, and talk as result, to speak 'mama' out of his throat, made to digest of his mother's milk primarily. I may be a bit jealous, though. Either due of that mother, who resembled the one I had, in a way, or mostly because that baby and his mother had a father and a husband to share with, a few of a kind who stood in these lands. Now, back to the 'yes' game, since no children until now uttered a single 'no', a Royal Guard stood before a child I knew, though the hat of his was gone. It was Fratley, who stumbled across same guard, who asked him the question I had been told to answer before.
Dan also came up across a guard like that one, or so he said when I came across his as well. His father, uncle Clyde, was also a member of Royal Guard, before he became a baker, and that sounds silly, or either smarter than I might be able to understand. Either way, I wasn't, and still I am not interested to talk or play with his, I just want to be on my own, but there's no such a thing as 'own' in a kingdom of roads connected to houses, and friends connected to other friends, like a tree share of twigs, leaves, sometimes flowers, fruits, seeds... and so it goes on, like how Gappys teeth keep falling each day, less than mine. My tooth felt yesterday, so I had put it under my pillow. Dan also did the same, as he said to me he expected to see that bastard mouse to come up and take that tooth of his, but before he could see anything, he felt asleep.
It wasn't the first time Dan did such thing. I also did the same, but I felt asleep too. It must had been a kind of sleep potion or the darkness that closed both eyes of mine later that night, or maybe it was Lennie, who had blown that candle, after a kiss on my forehead, a cold kiss, unlike the bed I stood, unlike the bed my brother resides. When I woke up, it was gone, from my mouth, and from my sight, unlike Lennie, who was there, telling me to get up, and so I did. Before, she used to tell me to get up as well, but on another tone, of distress, and those eyelashes kinda made me get up as soon as possible, together with that curve on her mouth, and those arms freed of being crossed, as if they were about to slap my butt, unlike this morning, when those arms were crossed on her chest, a huge chest by now.
...
bump [https://i.vgy.me/h5Z42b.png]
I woke up earlier this morning, a cold day outside this blurred window, once smudged by my own breath, who I used to clean, or diminish the dirt brought by the air, if there's such. The more I clean, more this window gets blurry, though I can see what happens outside on either ways. Rain, and its people, who travel across many lenghts, on same way rain keeps pouring down from the highest heights, beneath the clouds, who either stay still, or move slowly as others, alike the kids and the adults who follow, or try so, of the little ones. At least, I can distinguish both with my eyes, suffering of restless blinks, and each moment I see the darkness, or the crimson that comes on each night, when I close my eyes looking at the candle, I might want to lay down on this same bed, on same way as I did yesterday, though I may be able to sleep, unlike before.
The veins I see into the mirror, red unlike the blueish ones belonging to these legs, as I can see with the gaiters off, and this right arm, crushed by the pillow of feathers and this head who attempted to rest, alike these both feet, who lured the rhythm and heat of a tribal dance, who I pleasantly agreed to be done, even if such had taken away my sleep, but not my comfort on bed, althought these strands of a messed white hair, once wrapped into my neck like tendrils, said otherwise, as they usually do when not brushed to my back, where their tip might tickle, but a tickle is less than a discomfort I usually felt these days, or nights. Yet, unlike many of my parts, my head seems backwards, because it doesn't feel nothing of the morning addiction, that strucks each one who had ever gotten a living being in the chest once. Mostly they speak of nauseas, althought my mouth is dry, unlike the toilet I filled in later that night, same night I tried to to sleep into, unlike you there.
These and other disorders told me, and now their aftermath came for me to realise, that I must rest, but I cannot sleep, even if I and my body kinda want to, telling me to go to bed on ways more exclusive than singles, and spontaneous, yawns. My flaccid ears, once crestfallen as this chin, who felt when I took a look at the nails of my feet, lifted up, as that spear used to remain so, not hanging on the wall, but in this left hand, the hand that used to ergue those who felt with a single touch. Same could be said to Bart, as a whole. Whenever I felt, he was there to give me a hand of support, as much as I did used to be a support of this Kingdom, but now, it seems I must be the support for the one whom I had given of such, yet not enough.
Forget about funny cravings, Lenneth, since the bad aftertaste still persists deep into your throat, tasteless for anything else. Remember when you were afraid of doors, that seemed to be about to hit your stomach in any moment, of the weight of your family duty as a Dragoon Knight, stood on what once was the coat of arms you wore in the chest, seemingly about to collapse and expurge of a life like a butcher's knife?
My future seemed static, as now, alike the position I stood on same static bed, same bed I decided to lie for a while once again, same bed I used, and still I do, lie in both ways. 'Don't worry', these were his drooling words, soft as the pillow my head is lying above, and the other pillow I'm holding tightly, alike how Bart used to hold me, into the nights, or in mornings like this one. Unlike this pillow, he whispered to my both ears, sounding alike my own thoughts, as he looked at me in the eye, to later be kissing my innermost lips of love, same love he shared when touching upon my hand, comfortably caressing with his fingers, until they got to hold the entirety of my palm, our fists kept close, alike how men threat each other by pulling fists to be able to harm each other.
Bart would never harm me, yet a pleasant harm was delivered by his touch, by his closure, and by the trust I had of his, more important than his trust on me. Over the edge, the red of the Crescent blood didn't mattered, for the first time, or when mean seasons arrived, or used to. That thing screamed, as I screamed as well, nailed on same bed. Tears belonged to cries, I thought, as that thing kept screaming, like his flesh was set ablaze by the cold of her outside. The contact of the Cleyran nursemaid's hands, who once touched of dry sand to watery skins, wasn't enough for that thing to stop throwing tantrums, even on such age, if there was piece of navel string still belonging to his would rotten in a few days, unlike his mother, luckily well, as you can see, or will see one of these days, alike how Jack opened his eyes to me, that morning, and this morning as well.
...
I look up at Lennie's eyelashes today, and only with them, I could deduce how she had changed, or how do I changed, soft as a pillow. Those eyes shared of same concern as the day belonging to before, as if she was about to cry, or as if she already had shed a tear, away from my sight, daddy's sight. Well, an eye-mote also makes people cry as well. Speaking about tears, mostly these children who were interrogated cried as well. Seemingly, by result, most of them said a single 'yes', some took a while to say something, that ended up with a 'yes', followed by 'please', and often a tantrum, that resulted in a tear to be shed, in both eyes and pants. I said 'yes' too, though. Just a single 'yes', and nothing else, and I don't recall ever seeing someone saying 'no', but I guess that there's always a head backwards, like Fratley.
— I'll only answer to you if you take that hat up there – before an answer could be given to that guard, another were delivered by Fratley. It wasn't the kind of answer that I do often hear, or heard about, or a type of answer that you may expect someone to utter. I may agree that most of us lose many things, like hats, yet there's always a place to wonder where such object had been lost. I wonder how Fratley's hat went in there, atop that tree, judging the size of that tree, and that kid; between a nail and a drawing pin, same could be said to his and that guard's height, and me as well.
— Can't you take that hat by yourself, kid? – the guard seemed to be not so fully of patience this day. They never appear to be patient anyway; however, that's part of their duty to be able to help the helpless ones, same rule for the Dragoon Knights to obey. About that hat, whom the tree holded on its twigs, I could perceive that same question of mine, who still wondered how that hat supposedly came there, had been briefly struck into the mind of that guard, or so I could see in his face, barely due to that iron helm of his. Maybe a throw wasn't enough, judging the size of Fratley as a whole, more than the arms of his, but kids can do anything, and I am such proof. But I ain't Fratley, yet I wished I could be, in a way.
— I'm afraid of heights – he said, and what else would he say? If I had that height, I would fear heights as well, althought ants, who are smaller than his, do not care about heights. Well, what else would the tall guard do, other than take that kid's hat? Either way, as the guard climbed up that tree, like an ant in search of a leaf, whose tree used to share of many, I came near Fratley, who didn't even noticed me, well, he sure did, with a quick gaze, and a smirk too, both who later paid fully attention to the guard, above us. For some reason, when the guard reached that twig, that hat suddenly moved, but maybe it was just the wind, or so I may agree to think. Fratley didn't even bothered, as I did otherwise.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
— Here, take it – the guard said, after he threw that hat from the highest spot where he could be standing, atop that tree. Instead of Fratley, I was the one who took the hat of his. Not that I had been mistaken by his, but anyway, I am a kid as well, and also someone else who was there to take that hat, if Fratley couldn't. A matter of luck, to be said. Then, the guard and his claws gathered closer to the trunk, where they once had been to climb up that tree, but now they were being used to do the opposite. After he came down, to stand before us, into the tree or not, he demanded an answer for his question, or so other guards like his had done before.
— Now, would you care to answer me this: Do you believe that someone who passed away will come back to life? – he asked, for Fratley this time. Maybe he wanted to ask the same for me as well, but by hearing the words of his, I could only presume that the question had been directed by one of us, and since I had answered such before, and since it was Fratley who had struck with this guard before I did, then I can only say that it was him who needed to answer the question. He sure is taking some time to say something, doesn't he?
— You mean... if someone who had died will come back alive? – Fratley asked, on a way more clever than the guard could be. They all had asked to us the same question, not even mentioning the word 'death', but a single 'pass away'; well, sure I and Dan had taught those Basilisks to easily pass away, as easy as it is to fool a child, other than a kind of me, to say so.
— Yes, that's the question: If someone who passed away will be alive once again, yes or no? – At this moment, I already had said 'yes', like Dan said too, althought I am convinced that I just said a single 'yes', only so that the conversation between I and the guard would be over already. I mean, besides answering this exact question, I had been interrogated to answer many questions beyond a single 'yes' or 'no' choice, like when I ssaid my name was Jack, and still is, the guard asked my surname as well, or 'Jack of what', as he clearly said.
I took a time to answer that, this until he took the ribbon Lennie tied into me, only to see half of her name inscribed at the tip of my tail, or so that guard did with a hundred of Jacks, if there's such also asked me if I wanted to be a Dragoon Knight, alike how mother was once, and I said nothing instead, but a 'maybe'. Instead of answering the guard, Fratley just stared to his face, like someone would do on a conversation, however no words had been spoken yet. Only thoughts, but these can only be shared to ourselves. He may be thinking about delivering the answer only at this moment, since he was occupied and concerned about that hat who stood in that tree more than the question brought in by the guard, only awaiting for him to say something, and more than my presence as well, as I am only perceived by his look because of the hat I'm still holding with both hands.
— Uh... well... Mister... What should I say? – and why do you ask?
— Just say what you believe to be the rightfull answer.
— But... I can't lie, can I? – do you lie? 'The children who lie won't go to paradise', or so the rhyme says. Just answer the guard, my dear Fratley.
— I'll know if you're lying, or not.
— But what if I convince you so much of a lie that you may agree to be the truth?
— Not that I'm not prepared, but... I had been trying to find some bugs, you see – that's enough. I'm tired of holding this hat, as much as I am tired of standing in there, as much as I expect something-AAAAH!... No, not this. A single butterfly, before a crowd, came from underneath the hat of his. What a silly thing to be afraid of... what the heck!? Butterflies, in the rain? No, under the hat? Oh, now I see. Maybe those butterfly had been caught by Fratley, by the hat of his, instead of a net, or an empty jelly jar, or whatever comes to the mind, even a hat may work, and sure did. They must had been gathered by his, and then, they tried to escape, by flying somewhere else.
But how the hell could they fly into that tree, anyway? I don't know, yet I wanna. Maybe they didn't, since it's raining, and butterflies can't fly into the rain, unlike birds, only if the rain is smooth, falling into little bits onto us, like when its drizzling, or used so. Smooth or not, butterflies can't cross the field of rain, as the drops of water from the skies could kill then, or so their fragile body says to me. I am made of bones, so wherever it rains, there's no chance for my bones to be broke, althought a tumble may be enough for my bones to be gone, this only if I get old enough than I am already, or maybe older than Lennie.
Funny... these butterflies, who are now standing in hiding into some flowers near me, so quiet they had beTence before, I would say that they were dead, and that sure sounds like another reason why Fratley didn't took the hat of his, when such had gotten upon that tree. Try to think about the shock... I can, because it happened with me once. Not with butterflies, but frogs, or so they were meant to be ones. I once had gotten a bunch of tadpoles from daddy, who had put then in a jar of glass, same where he used to put the jelly mother, my mother, used to made to his. I, who forgives myself until this day, had mistakenly put that jar inside the dark cabinet of the kitchen, and on the next day, as I woke up to have of a good breakfast, prepared by daddy, I remembered that I had put the tadpoles inside same cabinet I say, and when daddy opened it, we saw with our both eyes that they were all dead.
But now I agree that they would die anyway, if stood on the marsh full of pikes where daddy found then, and even if they turned into frogs, I wonder how they would end up, after I had succesfully put one of them inside the pants of someone else, like Dan, or maybe Lennie. Whereas Dan would be pissed, yet our cordiality still remained after, Lennie would do more than press one of my ears, until they turned red, but split to my daddy as well; however, she seems to have no such force to do it so, not because daddy isn't here, but also because of my brother, still inside her, unlike me.
Well, after all this time, and he didn't answered yet. How much longer should I await for his to speak? Oddly enough, Fratley doesn't seem to avert the fact that death should come, yet the guard who is still awaiting for same answer just stands there, to calm whenever someone cries, as other kid had done, or to interact with the one whom he demanded an answer.
— ...spiders aren't insects either, neither lices... – or so Fratley said. I don't recall he ever saying such thing. The guard in front of his, erect like a spear, wasn't paying that kind of attention either, yet I could see him listening to that kid. I was listening to him as well, still I am, but I can only hear bits of his voice. It just keeps going on, and on, althought that's the intention of the guard, who wants the conversation between his and that kid, as one did with me, and Dan as well, to flow naturally, to not be forced.
After all, Fratley had been told to tell the truth, or so the truth his father spoke to his once. 'They' are, still, talking about armadillo bugs, or woodlouses, those kinds of bugs that can be found below a rock, or rotten trunks too, and when you touch them, they cover themselves like a ball, like an armadillo does as well. Interesting... the guard, like them all, had been acting naturally, like our fathers used to do so well. I wonder if these guards share of kids as well. Maybe his sons could be my friends, maybe the guard could be my friend, as they insist to be on the conversations I had, five for me in total, but if this guard, like many, sure was a friend of mine, I would call him by the name, instead of calling him by guard. Or Mister, as Fratley uses to direct to him.
— ...don't you think that bugs are fascinating, Mister?
— Yeah, they sure are... – the guard, unlike Fratley, seemed tired of the conversation, or in a few other words, tired of the listening his ears had been enduring all this time, and I wonder which time is it, and how long such passed since that moment. Five minutes, maybe the double, who cares anyway...
— I agree too! Daddy and I used to catch some butterflies... – compared to the guard, and me on a way, Fratley had a taste on conversation, even if he was talking by himself all along, yet he wanted to endure same conversation as long as he, or his stirring limbs, could. I guess you don't even need to pay attention to your own words, or your body, if you want to talk with someone – I once ate purple like grape corn for breakfast...
— ...Purple corn? And how did you got to eat such?
— Daddy brought it from the hills...
— Your father seems to be an important person to you...
— He is important to mommy as well, as much as she is important to me, and my brothers too.
— And do you agree with this distance kept between you, and your father?...
— ...
— ...So, you disagree?...
— ...
— ...Do you wish your father to come back soon?...
— ... – from that moment onwards, the guard had opened his lips, as Fratley reclused of his ones. He just looked somewhere else, other than the guard's face, purposefully avoided the questions brought by the guard. Not only he did brought the look of his to another direction, other than the grounds below his feet, the grass where his feet once stood, that same tree where his hat once stood, whom he took from my arms who holded of them, for some unknown reason, and wore on that face of his, who expressed such nothing unlike before.
No hearing, no breathing, no movement, no colors... just silence, althought the rain, and the guard, said otherwise. So Fratley hid his face, alike how a turtle shrinks like a cicada to inside its shield, with that hat, green unlike the color of the blood, and hair as well, with those familiar strands. He tried to close his eyes as well, but the utmost he could was to blink, to briefly see the dark red of the lids shut. So, Fratley just stood quiet, as much as I. However, it seems that he couldn't stand it, as much as he couldn't deliver an answer, or answers as it turned to be. He doesn't seem to be the kind who prefers to talk by himself, in thoughts, but the one who likes to share of his words to others, and hear of their words as well, even if they turn out to be a mere few words, but words in a way.
— ...Mister... – well, he gave up from that silence of before, at the moment he said a single word, and I, as much as the guard, could hear it as well – — about my daddy...
— What's it? So... shall it be a 'yes'?
— No... A yes, or no... maybe both. I... I don't know. I may be lying to you, Mister, if I had choose a 'yes'. Daddy... Even if he sure come back, so... I know he's doing his best, but... Of course I want him to come back, everyone does want... But daddy, he'll die anyway, Mister. And I don't know for sure if the dead come alive, but I kinda wanted to see if they do. Like... would I come back if I had been dead? I am alive, don't I am? So... I want daddy to be back, as soon as possible, like my brothers and mommy too, and that's fine, a wish or not.
— Okay then – and so, the guard just turned his back to us, and left. He would left this place anyway, since there's many to be asked of his question around the kingdom. I don't even know if the guard just left because he was bored enough already, or if he needed to ask other children. He didn't even asked me the question, maybe because I did it already, or maybe his patience regarding the Fratley nearby mine was gone.
Fratley had a kind of difficult to answer a 'yes', or 'no', and I don't even know if he did answered the questions brought by the guard, or if he did had listened to then. But eyes can't listen, since we share of both ears to do it so, so I guess he did listened to his words, and also spoke of his own words, even with the eyes away. At least, he tried to answer on his way, instead of giving a single 'yes', as much as I, like many, did, only to see things wash away as soon as possible. Even when abruptly ignored by that back, one of many, Fratley looked at that guard from a distance, and a sort of reminiscensce, or so I could see similar thing as well, came to his eyes, and his whole as well.
Now he moved those limbs like he usually did, not that he seemed to control then, as much as he couldn't control that appetite for a conversation. Even when not engaging in a small talk, at the moment I am looking to Fratley, describing his, creating an image of his based on his habits, it's like I'm talking to him, and the same goes for Frattie as well. If I, at least, could do the same for Lennie, or, should I had said times ago, mother...
...
duty [https://i.vgy.me/WFcxGi.png]
This stomach reminds me of many things; things that remained, and things that shouldn't remain anymore...
After Jack had been conceived to this world, a month or two weeks later, I had to do some exercises, since I had been lying flat all along. It was difficult on the first days, but being a member of Dragoon Knights motivated me enough to do them, until I could fully recover to my state prior the labour. Days prior I could walk once again, and prior the exercising of my legs, the placenta I and Jack shared once had been taken from my womb to a bowl of soup, as I and the son born of my flesh stood on same bed, one lying above other.
From the first breath of tiny lungs, to the approach, the crucial contact of his skin to my heat, bleeding without any open wounds belonging to his own, and the string who had been cut, with its remains rotting day after day, as Jack felt the heat of my body, and I felt of same heat, feared of such to overcome me as a whole. Exposed like abatoir meat, even with both of us sharing of common pieces of cloth, green like the sourest of the limes, green like a tasteless wall of lime, althought my tongue still had the ability to taste something, like my own flesh.
I had to taste the stew of my own placenta in a soup Bart prepared to me, to improve my recovery, or so he said. He also tasted of same meat, whom he declared to be a bit limpy, sometimes gummy, and I could agree with him as well. I may admit that I felt slighty better after I had tried out to eat my own flesh. Same relief that I found when I filled in the potty a few days later, or or when I took a bath, like now. Bart felt nothing else, other than a relief as soon as I told to him that I felt better, I got better, I got strong, and nothing wrong, because I felt better, as much as I couldn't taste a glass of wine, like Bart would usually do when followed by me, on the old days before I became older, yet even younger, I had, and still I do have, been able to brought another living being to this world, as much as I had been brought as well on same way. Before I felt better, I didn't wanted that thing, who beared the name of 'Jack', given by the father, near my breasts, even if he needed of such milk, who only I had been gathering a month ago.
Painfully, my ears had to endure of his tantrums, and when I couldn't, I had to redeem myself, and allow that mouth, who had gotten a surface of white alike the strands of my hair, and a while alike the milk I had to give to his. Even at the moment of his birth, Jack seemed more quieter than when he 'asked' to me when it was time to feed him, and time for his didn't mattered; early in the morning, late in the midnight, Jack would be awake anytime he wanted, just to be feeded by me, his mother. Besides waking me up in the middle of my sleep, Jack used to bite my nipples with his jaw, as if, since that earlier, he was telling me, and anyone else, besides the cries, that my breasts had been claimed to his, and only, and he didn't even bothered if I ended up aching, or not.
I never told to your father, or anyone else, about the 'sensation' I had when I brought Jack to the food he demanded for the first time. Not that I had the time to say it so, but I couldn't, since I preferred for it to be restricted between me, and only, but since you are between me, and since I shared of many secrets with you as well, I may be able to tell you about that. A thing I thought to be forgotten for good, since it was wrong for I to had felt it, even if it was good, for a moment, before the shock, and the shame.
It happened on the first days, even after Jack had bitten me without a pair of teeth, and same thing also happened when I stood with Bart, and only. Now, since only I and Jack shared of that bed on those days, I couldn't, and still I can't even call such thing felt from the tip of my nerves by 'pleasure', even if it had given me creeps, shivers not belonging to my spine, or any kind of bone belonging to my body, yet, I had the need to feel a kind of pleasure, but not on that way, who had left a guilt on me since I am able to record of those moments.
With half of my dignity though to be gone, I also had been lead astray, not only by the son who had been feeding on myself, but by his father, your father, the one who once gave me comfort; Jack and Bart may had shared of a way to brought me comfort in a way, yet they also had found a way to harm me as well. The size of Jack's head, who weighted more than his own little body, had done a major damage to my entire body, who felt the loss of him, and the blood who passed throught the navel to his. Althought my vessels, compressed for a month to bare the size of the infant growing inside me, like now, had relaxed within the days after the labour, nowhere else, other than my organs, went on same relaxing.
Being numb by the pain instead, if it was a challenge enough to be able to fill in the potty on the early days, or to ergue a leg to practice one of the exercises required to each woman a few days after the birth, I also had to deal with a kind of love, unlike the one Bart gave me before, during the days we spent together, after I had completed the training sessions, during the nights he used to brought me home, and used to leave at the front door as well, before we ended up on same bed, same home, as I used to woke up before his, yet half of his always had been awake in the mornings, like this one.
However, when Jack came, Bart couldn't even touch me, or kiss my lips, afraid as much as I had been of bearing, more than a headache in the middle of the nights. Sleeping in the sofa instead of sharing of that same bed, Bart avoided any kind of contact of himself, or anyone else, with me; not even a single touch of his hands were delivered on the first days, even if such had happened before, when the labour pains had taken me as a whole, unlike any kind of infection, fortunately. Only the heat remained, not the heat brought by Bart, or the heat brought by a pile of blankets, covering not only me but Jack as well, whom Bart holded carefully, but the heat, belonging to nothing alike the blazes of a fire, that first took my forehead, then my ears, and my head as a whole, crossing throught my skin, and almost ending up taking me and the entirety of me as well.
A sister of mine had died of same fever as soon as her baby had been born. It took five days, to be exact, for her heat to be gone, together with her soul. The baby cried, as it usually did, and had done on the day of his mother's demise. Knock... Many gifts were brought by family members, and friends of mine to me, and Jack; same also happened to my sister, who had never seem then being used, or wore, by his daughter, whose only gifts, the ones who remained of those times, were her name, Eleanor, same name who belonged to our mother, and that orange ribbon, tied into her tail, a sort of tie that seems to be the only one who remained after her mother had passed
...Knock... Same could be said to this ribbon, and my mother as well, however, the red coat says otherwise, or used to say, yet it keeps saying the same. Even without a kiss, whom he grated to my lips a month after, same month I had decided to become, once again, a proud Dragoon Knight, Bart's tenderness with me stood the same, and the same could be related to Jack. As I had been stuck on same room, lying on same bed, wearing of same clothes, watching the light coming from same window, that was enough to make me mad, but I also had been living with same Bart, and now with our son as well.
Or, should I say, his son. My son...Knock...The one who took care mostly of Jack was his father, instead of me. But on the early days, it was different. I also took care of Jack, in a way; by being a Dragoon Knight, I protected him, and many others like him, from the dangers that surround the world outside. I may protect you as well, with these claws. Yet, even with such protection, came the distance... Knock... Knock...
Away from the heat, away from the breast, away from the sheltering red sky; I know babies can't walk on the instant they open their eyes, because of the weight of their heads, compared to the weight of their bodies...Knock Knock...Jack can't accept I am his mother, because of the weight left by this head, and those who had made it. However, not only they, but me as well. It was me who decided to be this way...Knock...It was this body who decided me to be this. These clothes I wear made me into this. And you there counts, althought you do not wear any cloth, or do follow a way...
Yet.
...Knock Knock Knock...Jack grew up on this way, but he's still a child. Knock...There's still time to do it so...Knock...There's always a time to grow up, to accept, and to...Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock... Geez, who might be the rowdy standing at the door, knocking so much?