The dates at the top are the dates that I finished these pieces. I already have quite a few done. These are based off of a list of 100 one-word prompts found on LiveJournal.

11/17/07

029 - Birth

It had been anything but cute when it was born. A little wrinkled thing that wailed as it was expelled from its mother’s womb. Its gums were dark and its tongue was as pale as its skin. It looked just like its mother. They had done it.

She cried when they took her baby away from her. But the doctors ignored her as they studied the small, frail thing in their arms. It was alive. They had succeeded.

It lay for three days in an incubator, with dozens of wires protruding, like roots, from patches on its body. It never opened its eyes, though it was quick enough to cry when it was hungry. It was always hungry. They were glad to feed it. After all, it was their creation.

The scientists would have liked to keep it longer, but they had found the mother to be inconsolable without her child. When they gave it to her, she cooed and laughed as it ate; its little hands kneading at her breast. The scientists might have later regretted their decision to give her it, but by then it was too late. She would let no one near her child. They made note of that on their clipboards. They made note of everything.

They made note of the fact that it didn’t open its eyes for nearly a week. They made note of its thick hair and the fact that its teeth cut through its dark gums in less than a month. It weaned itself. It never crawled. It went straight from rolling over to wobbly galloping to its mother. They made note of that too.

The two were inseparable. It went everywhere she did; first clutched to her breast, then later with its tiny first clasped around her thumb as it toddled alongside her. To any normal observer, barring the thing’s dark gums, the picture would have been beautiful: the depiction of the connection between mother and child. But the scientists saw it and only made note.