Young Writers Society

Inspired by “Little Hands” by Mother Mother. Listen to the song whilst reading to achieve maximum immersion in the story

My baby's gone.

I can still hear her cries, calling out to me from the crashing waves below as I grip the railings, not daring to look down yet. A cold splash of water hits my pale face as I finally lean over, reaching my long bony fingers down towards the grey sea in hopes of grabbing her; but it's too late. The past has gone, along with the flock of hungry seagulls ready to dash and dart between the waves to catch their prey.

A lone bird solemnly squawks and already I miss her little feet, and her little hands that once sought mine for comfort. Tiny fingers grasp for something, anything, to hold onto but there is nothing but a roaring ocean and sharp rocks, jutting out and jagged like the broken glass that scatters the floor of our now empty home. Each piece would fit perfectly back together, like a puzzle, except the edges cut deep into thick skin, allowing warm blood to spill as you desperately try to rearrange them back into something even resembling family life. A sudden strike of wind slashes across my face and I stumble back from the edge, lifting my fragile hands to my face only to realise that I can no longer feel the physical pain that tears through each page of my story, only the excruciating tap tap tapping which echoes throughout my brain.

It's been too long.

The icy tips of my fingers cling onto the railings, and I imagine what her body would be like to touch now; would it be as freezing as her fathers? Would each delicate layer of skin I used to trace be as smooth and soft as before? Another gust of wind lashes out at my being and my fingers uncurl, leaving imprints on the metal railings. Fingerprints.

Everything reminds me of her.

Hands shaking, I turn to the right to face the ships; there are two. Old girls, I remember seeing them before when my father brought me down here one morning to see what they'd caught. A whole team of fishermen had gone out the previous day, ready to embrace the wild journey the waves would take them on. Lucifer broke loose that night, and chipped away at their frozen souls until he'd made his way inside.

Only three of them returned.

In many ways, today was like that day. Lucifer had stormed his cage and taken my baby from my arms in a crazed haze of screams and agony. He'd taken my baby and scattered my home with shattered glass as a warning. Blood had trickled from my feet as I chased him down through the shards but to no avail; My baby was gone.

Tears start to drip down my face, one by one cascading down my cheeks as though a tap has been turned behind my eyes. These are the tears in which I will sink, and drown. Once more I wishfully plead to the violent waves that took her, heart thumping fast beneath my long coat as I run down the stone path towards the sand, and the sea. My blue lips open to scream but the water forces it's way down my throat as I thrash around, reaching out for her.

But she's gone.

In one last attempt to bring her back, I throw my body against the rocks which so cruelly took her limbs from her, attempting to scramble up their sides with what little energy I have left. But the whispering wind knows more than me and I go flying back into my watery grave. My own possible guilty verdict stares back at me as I lift my head from the cell's sink and stare at my face in the broken mirror.

Grey bars block my view of the sea now, but I like to think that she is still out there. Her remains lapping against the shore, forever more.