(April 9, 2018 at 2:31 am)Magilla Wrote: Babette
Her life had been restrained in nature for as long as she was aware.
And what a strange awareness it had been. Sounds had been muted, and her vision blurred.
For as long as she could remember, everything had seemed to have a tinge of colour washed over it. A pinkish hue, much like that of her Dad’s faded boxer shorts, not that she had actually seen his boxer shorts.
Her Dad used to call her "Baby", but her hearing, muffled as it was, made it sound like "Maybe".
“Maybe”, he’d seem say, ”Hello Maybe.” Maybe her name really was Maybe. Her hearing had always been imperfect.
Could we hear it, you or I might think it a case of tinnitus or something of the like, but in her existence she knew nothing else. She could hear constant swishing sounds, and soft whump-whump-whump noises.
But there was a lot of comfort in the noises, too. They weren’t harsh, just ever-present; soothing. As well, she never wanted for anything very much. She was well nourished, and was never cold.
Strange though her existence was, there was very little that frustrated her. Her only real frustration was her feeling of confinement. She seemed unbearably restricted at times; unable to move with free rein. Sometimes she tried to react against her existence, but it seemed as though forces beyond her control hampered the attempt.
Sometimes she wanted to lash out or kick. But it always seemed pointless, it was generally fruitless. Even a good stretch seemed to be beyond her. Life had her in it’s grip at those times. If she relaxed then everything was well. But try and react against the confines of her existence, and she couldn’t.
So she was, and so she seemed likely to stay, until one day...
She felt a tremendous pressure as though her skin wanted to implode; like the world was pressing in upon her.
Her existence was never to be the same again.
That first bout didn’t last long, but it was only the first of many. Upon each new episode, the seemingly ever- present sounds became louder — a swishing/rushing/roaring sound washed over her, and rolled around inside her head. And the grip. It bore down upon her with such force. Her bones seemed like they were bending under the strain of it.
Her movements had become much more restricted with the march of time, but now... Now she felt unable to do anything. It was as if the walls were closing in like some suffocating rubberised “thing”. Her head felt crushed and her limbs all distorted and twisted — cramped beyond toleration.
She felt as though there was a great pushing and thrusting, shoving force acting upon and within her. Strange new sounds came into her awareness. Until finally, she felt like she was slipping down a smooth, yet somehow clamping tunnel — a tunnel with light at the end. But it was more than a going down the tunnel. She was impelled, beyond her will. This experience was not like near- death, where people say it’s calm and almost beautiful. This was a tremendous shock.
A pent up force took hold of her bodily, and propelled her onward. Until suddenly; suddenly; for the first time, she felt cold. Cold, cold, cold. But just as suddenly, her hearing had altered. Sounds were now loud and clear and quite shocking.
But the clamping feel was gone. And she could see new colours, too - colours that she had never been aware of in the past. Then she was wrapped in swaddling, and placed gently onto her mother’s chest, which was a new warmth for her.
Her father was there, and he said, quite clearly, “Hello Baby. Welcome to the world. I think we’ll call you Babette — for ‘Little Baby’ “. And so Babette was born, at 4.30 am, to two proud parents.
She had emerged into what was for her, a new world - yes life would be different from now on.
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This is my own short story, Magilla.
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This story hits home. The muffled sound part.
The god who allows children to be raped out of respect for the free will choice of the rapist, but punishes gay men for engaging in mutually consensual sex couldn't possibly be responsible for an intelligently designed universe.
I may defend your right to free speech, but i won't help you pass out flyers.
Those who can make you believe absurdities, can make you commit atrocities.
--Voltaire
Nietzsche isn't dead. How do I know he lives? He lives in my mind.
I may defend your right to free speech, but i won't help you pass out flyers.
Those who can make you believe absurdities, can make you commit atrocities.
--Voltaire
Nietzsche isn't dead. How do I know he lives? He lives in my mind.
