The Girl Who Stole Birth
All is grey.
Even I am beginning to feel its thin whispers trailing behind me.
I am your worst nightmare, your dream. You came from me, amiable, yellow. You grew. You changed. The spectrum dulled. Yellow became a muddy brown. A filthy wellington, stepping on the sun. I can be kind, caring, and yes critical. But I am a perfectionist. I am Creation, how do you do? I created you, everybody. You may even see me twice in your life. Lucky you. I visit to drop off your bundles of joy. My failed creations.
But I have hope, a girl has appeared. I call her White. I was told by the tower blocks, the whispers from inside. Babies and mothers forgotten, kicked to the side. Who cares?
I do
I am the clean-up team
Overpopulation has taken hold, the grey is spreading. I am choking. But I heard the White. She wasn’t like the others. She is cared for. She has been created, the same, but different, not by me.
I thought 1978 was white. It wasn’t, that was when the grey really began. Now I am chucking babies constantly.
I only met the White 3 times. She was the opposite of what I should have liked. She was an abomination, not natural. They said.
She was better than you.
*Partus 452*
She didn’t cry when announced ‘born’
She was a science experiment, her name a number
She was the world’s first unconcieved child
She was perfection, White
She died in childbirth.
The tower blocks were crowding down around her, spying. Her white burned the grey tendrils.
Her first birth was messy, all blood and no baby. Placenta on the floor, baby passed from nurse to nurse like I was watching a testosterone filled rugby match.