Spilled Ink (Currently undergoing updates.)

athousandcleverwords:

A baby cries. They had not strapped her into the recommended car seat. She was a freshly laundered bundle of joy, mother would not let her go. The wound of amputation still burnt. She held Baby, cocooned in flesh coloured blankets, next to her first home, within the shell. Safe. 

But the shell had dented, crumpled around their snapped legs, collecting their fluids. 

“It’s good she’s crying,” Father tried assuring Mother, hand on wincing shoulder, touching bone. 

“I can’t feel my legs,” Mother rasped, already drained of blood, her fingers tight on Baby’s blanket. Baby cried harder. 

“Neither can I love.” Worry now, it branched through his veins. Baby’s blanket dyed scarlet, it had been pastel pink when they’d wrapped her earlier. 

“Let me hold her a second,” Mother would not be able to provide warmth, she had already denied her protection, he could keep Baby safe. Blame seeped in through their shoes. 

“Aagh” Grinding bone. Her flesh slipped as she awkwardly handed over Baby. Without child, the hollow in her stomach ached. She focused on the physical pain; shattered bone, torn flesh, punctured muscle.

“Coo, coo” Father tried to soften Baby’s cries. His firm hands searching her tiny frame. Her leg twisted, string on a balloon. She screamed a child’s scream. 

“What did you do?” Mother turned far too sharply. The shell cringed, her body ached. 

“I’m trying to check her injuries,” he hushed, curled instinctively over Baby. He was the doctor, he knew the situation, the pain. 

“Do you need to hurt her more?” 

“If I can tell the paramedics where the issues are, they can try and fix her quicker.” The try rang in mothers head. No sirens in the distance. No cars driving by. The metal cocoon gradually fusing with their bodies.