Emptiness
I am writing this for The Scheherazade Project.
As I walk through the hallway my heart pounds, my ears buzz, my eyes glaze over. How is that in the midst of this crush of humanity I am still all alone? I walk next to someone, I brush a man's elbow, a woman's skirt swishes against my legs, yet I feel nothing.
Two weeks ago I found out the greatest news, I am pregnant. My beloved and I are expecting our first born. I have dreamed of being a mother since my very earliest memories. Such pure joy, rapture. I am going to be a mother. I tell no one. I want to keep this secret inside of me, just me and the baby for a few days longer. I don't even share it with my husband. I whisper to my child, I share the secrets of my life with them. I lie in bed at night rubbing the tight skin of my stomach and willing this little life to grow and develop.
Today I am empty. The fetus, my child has left. In a rush of pain and blood and agony it is over. As quickly as it began, it is done. All that is left is my hollowness. The hole in my heart that only my child, my dead child, could fill. I feel nothing.
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This piece is fiction, but based on true feelings that I have. Please feel free to give constructive criticism. I am interested in feedback.
As I walk through the hallway my heart pounds, my ears buzz, my eyes glaze over. How is that in the midst of this crush of humanity I am still all alone? I walk next to someone, I brush a man's elbow, a woman's skirt swishes against my legs, yet I feel nothing.
Two weeks ago I found out the greatest news, I am pregnant. My beloved and I are expecting our first born. I have dreamed of being a mother since my very earliest memories. Such pure joy, rapture. I am going to be a mother. I tell no one. I want to keep this secret inside of me, just me and the baby for a few days longer. I don't even share it with my husband. I whisper to my child, I share the secrets of my life with them. I lie in bed at night rubbing the tight skin of my stomach and willing this little life to grow and develop.
Today I am empty. The fetus, my child has left. In a rush of pain and blood and agony it is over. As quickly as it began, it is done. All that is left is my hollowness. The hole in my heart that only my child, my dead child, could fill. I feel nothing.
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This piece is fiction, but based on true feelings that I have. Please feel free to give constructive criticism. I am interested in feedback.
posted by Ditto at
10:14 AM
9 Comments:
Wow, thanks for participating! How did you stumble on the project? I'll get you all linked up probably tomorrow. I, too, didn't realize that so many of the entries for this project (and others) would be so dark. Maybe I should start picking lighter themes...
By
Trista, at 6/26/2006 4:09 PM
How did I find you? Uh, my best friend came out to me probably 2 1/2 years ago. It really rocked my world. As part of my quest to accept her and better understand I searched out some lesbian moms to read about their lives, realize how normal it is, etc. (They were women who I knew about due to an internet community) Time passed, I began questioning things for myself and looked up some of the people I used to read up on. That led me to a links list that had your link and I found the S project. Phew! Long explanation, huh? Why is it called the Scheherazade Project? Is it ok that I joined?
By
Ditto, at 6/26/2006 4:43 PM
Good gracious! You thought MY post was haunting?!?! I got nothing on you. Good writing. Sad and painful but good. Yes, perhaps some lighter themes are in order LOL
By
AndyT13, at 6/26/2006 7:01 PM
OOOo! Let me answer that.
Ahem.
Scheherazade is a story teller in the book _One Thousand and one nights_. This is the deal. The king wants bedtime stories, right? He gets himself a virgin, she's supposed to tell him a story. She does not amuse him. Next day? He beheads her.
Next virgin. Another story. And on and on and on until 1000 virgin's heads are chopped off and then in strolls Scheherazade who tells him the best story evah. After that first night, she's like, hm. Too bad. That was NOTHING. I have MUCH better stories than THAT. He keeps her head on another day...
1000 more days she lives and tells him stories of morality and how it can be beautiful to be human and eventually he marries her.
Yay.
What I love about it is the stakes, you know? To tell a story as though your life depended on it. Not good enough? Your head gets chopped off tomorrow.
I think I lost my head about 3 stories ago, but it's fun to think about... What could be riding on your story...
By
Plimco, at 6/27/2006 8:13 AM
Excellent answer Plimco. You've done your homework.
Ditto, I am so glad you joined! I just realized that I haven't officially linked you up yet. That sucks of me. I'll do so right now.
And thanks for satisfying my curiosity.
By
Trista, at 6/29/2006 1:04 PM
This is haunting. I expect it will stay with me for quite a while.
By
Theresa, at 7/02/2006 1:59 PM
Hi, ditto--Wow! Sorry I'm so slow at getting around to reading this. I can tell you that from my experience with the IVF back in 2000--losing my 2 babies in less than a week after the embryo transfer--and the obviously non-existent Sophie from this past June--your thoughts are spot on. I hope to see more from you!
By
Faith, at 7/26/2006 7:54 PM
Hi Ditto - I'm a newcomer to teh Scheherazade Project and am just browsing some previous entries.
I have been where your character is here, and more than once to varying degrees.
You have raked raw emotion here. You hit it dead on.
By
clew, at 9/03/2006 8:36 PM
Wow, my submission for "Emptiness" was very similar to this. Sadly, it wasn't fiction, that's why I can say your's was so good.
Look forward to reading more.
By
Michelle, at 10/09/2006 9:40 AM
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