and optimal dates and preferential temperatures. One line or two. As
if she could summon whatever it is that makes up the human soul as
easily as she could a cab on a busy New York avenue.
pulsed through every fiber of her being. Three times her seed been
thwarted from blossoming; the flower nipped in bud.
Amritsar. New York. Nothing had changed.
was a girl
the words left his lips, and stayed with her, forever ringing.
Next time maybe
came the consolation, and his X chromosomes consummated with hers
again. The routine never wavered. Neither in pattern nor in words.
months was all she would get. And then, one word of doctor would
bring her world crashing down.
she vowed. And a mother was born in that instant.
lamp, flexi-neck bent in sorrow. Overhead lights blindly served
tray of instruments. Feet arranged in stirrups. Needle plugged into
wept yet another life they had started and cherished. She wept
the drugs worked their magic, he kissed her forehead. A
mother who has lost is still a mother.
would try again, of course.
hope never dies.
I like to think, four years hence, of a little girl in pigtails,
hopscotching along the sidewalk. Or perhaps a boy in denim.
die, and children too.
hope? It lives forever.
Labels: fiction Trifecta Writing Challenge