c o n t a c t

[allyoucaneat]

Speak but my name, if I am listening, perhaps I will answer.


Brother, dear brother, is that you?

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[allyoucaneat]

Paxton feels as that child again, before things went skewed. Or was it after, was that better? He couldn't remember. It was a blur, past and present, life and death, bright florescent lights reflected off one-way mirror and darkness.

They were often one and the same.

He moves forward, ethereal feet not really touching the ground in the mimicry of walking, before he kneels by her legs and rests his head on her hand.

"Mother."

[originmother]

Alma gently slides her fingers over his temple, never minding that scar to his forehead, that sort of thing––

it matters little right now. No. Now she has one of her babies and that is more than she has known for so long, and in between. They took them, they took them. They took them from her. She never got to hold them, she never got to show them how much she loved them. They ripped them from inside her and left her bleeding and alone.

She scoots toward him, and leans forward to wrap her arms around him, her legs on either side of him and she gently strokes his back. This baby, this one. This baby is strong.

This one.
This one is strong.
This baby of mine.