Friday, October 12, 2012
I feel your judgement. Eventhough your eyes dart away if I try to engage you with a glance. Your thoughts shout across the room. Irresponsible mother. Heartless, unfit, uncaring.
I am haunted by the repetition of those lost minutes. Scant moments, snatched asleep. Enough for him to wander into the laundry. Then. Silence. Screams. My screams.
The stillness of this room, the beeping machines, the sterile scent of cleanliness only harsh chemicals can emulate. My waking nightmare. My red eyes stricken by drought.
This ultra-bright floor, frowns at me as it compares my worn slip on shoes against its pristine efficiency.
They tell me its time. I nod mechanically as switches are flicked. I watch his rhythmic breaths, forced downward are suddenly silenced. Tubes are removed and the incessant beeping map of the journey of his small heart are ceased.
Like automatons they leave; wheeling their machines toward the next room, perhaps to save a life this time. Their judgment and disgust pollute the air. It chokes me and I wish for tears.
I grip the tiny body trapped under that shiny white shroud. His face always peaceful, does not fight for breath. I smooth the mouse-brown wisps away from his face. Lips now blue. Just the way they had been when I found him. My lips white as I screamed, desperately pulling him out of that overly large bucket, half filled with soaking nappies.
If only I hadn’t tried so hard to be environmentally aware. Been like other mothers. If only I had used disposable nappies, he’d still be alive.
The purity of all the whiteness hurt my eyes. All the chemicals used to make everything so sterile, seep insidiously around us. Nothing toxic had been allowed into my child's life …… until now.
An efficient hand feels for a pulse and with a cursory glance at the clock; calls the official time; summoning death to collect another soul before stalking robotically out.
I feel the judgement of the orderly as he wheels my bright little soul away. The one who should be playing in the garden today. Digging his fingers into the cool earth and smearing it over his dungarees. I see your judgement.
A few moments distraction. A few centimetres of water. Playful boy, pulling at those soaking nappies. Reaching inward and toppling forward. Trapped. Drowning.
Can you ever look at me again? This end. Is this the end of us?
Irresponsible mother. Murderer.
This was written in response to Write Anything's Form and Genre Challenge FGC #29 Monologue