A Quote to Inspire
“Courage is grace under pressure.”
Words of the Day
1. Seraphic – (adj) Origin: 1625–35; < Medieval Latin seraphicus. See seraphim, -ic; of or resembling a seraph; blissfully serene; rapt. (From Siren by Cheryl Sawyer)
2. Effrontery – (n) Origin: 1705–15; < French effronterie, equivalent to Old French esfront shameless ( es- ex-1 + front brow; see front) + -erie -ery; shameless or impudent boldness; barefaced audacity. (From Cheryl Sawyer)
A Slice of Life
Inspiration: I was inspired to write this story on behalf of Mother’s Day, which I know is long past, however the sentiment remains. This one is for all the mothers out there who have the courage to bring life into this world and protect it.
A Mother’s Choice
I suppose the stick doesn’t lie after all . . .
Miranda Duncan sat across from her doctor and eyed the results that lay before her on the desk. There was no doubt about it; she was pregnant. She couldn’t blame the results on a stick this time; this was for real. She took a moment to absorb the weight of the news, breath held tight in her chest before she finally released it like a slow wind. Warmth flooded her senses, spreading from her heart, pooling in her limbs, before it settled in her womb, the source of her happiness.
I’m going to be a mother . . . me . . . I never expected it to happen so soon . . .
Miranda and her husband Josh had only started talking about children a month ago, but they weren’t one-hundred percent committed at the time; they just hoped to have children someday.
Apparently someday is today . . . How will he take the news?
Her hand found the taut, puckered flesh and ran soothing circles across it through her platinum blouse. Though she had been mentally prepared for a child, she wasn’t sure that they would be able to support a new addition to their family.
What if I just . . . neglect to tell Josh and . . .?
The instant her mind started to travel down that path, she knew that she couldn’t go through with it. Something about the life growing inside her gave immense joy. She couldn’t rob herself of that happiness, nor could she live with the emotional scars and nightmares that would follow her about, pointing fingers and blaming her for her momentary weakness.
I will have this baby. I will love and protect it for as long as I’m alive.
“Mrs. Duncan, I am here to discuss the options with you as well as my counselor Dr. Selvin. If there’s anything you need . . .”
“That won’t be necessary, doctor. I’m going home to share the news with my family. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
Miranda stood and dusted lint from her light gray, pressed slacks before gathering her purse straps onto her right shoulder. She turned on her heel and left Dr. Rosenthal’s office. Heat from the afternoon sun sizzled against the blacktop as Miranda made her way to her car, keys in hand and her heels creating a steady beat as she walked. The instant she was inside, she cranked the AC on high and turned on the radio, comforted by the smooth jazz that filled the space. She had a long drive ahead of her with bumper to bumper traffic. Her insides danced eagerly, but uneasiness held tight, weighing down on her heart and mind.
Please, let everything work out . . .
She pulled out of her parking space, mentally preparing herself for the confrontation that awaited her at home.
******
Miranda wasn’t at all surprised when she found Josh pacing near the front door. The instant she entered, he collected her into a fierce embrace, and for a while he said nothing as he held her, stroking her dark hair.
“Where have you been? I texted you over ten times and called you double that? Did something happen?”
She stepped out of his embrace to caress his thickly bearded cheek before kissing him. She reached for his hand and led him to the couch, easing him into a seat beside her.
“I went to see Dr. Rosenthal after work.” Miranda could already see the worry beginning to etch itself into his features, but she held up a hand to halt his words. “I’m fine, really, I am. So is . . . the baby . . .”
She allowed the weight of her words to hit him, anxious, yet at the same time afraid of his response. Shock was the first emotion to appear on his face, after several minutes of blankness, which was quickly followed by awe.
“A baby . . . Our baby? When . . . how . . .?”
Miranda didn’t have to read too much into his words to realize that he was looking for an explanation.
“I took one of those home pregnancy tests last week. I have no idea what compelled me to take it and I didn’t question it at the time. To be honest, the result surprised me. I never thought I would become pregnant so soon into our marriage. Most other couples I know, who want children so bad have a hard time conceiving and yet it only took us a year.”
She paused a moment, reigning in her emotions before continuing.
“At first I panicked. I wasn’t sure I was ready to be a mother and so I talked myself out of going to the doctor. I was in denial, but too damned scared to admit it. It wasn’t until I started feeling strange this evening at work that I decided to make an emergency appointment with Dr. Rosenthal.”
She took his hand then and brought it shakily to the product of their love.
“I want this baby more than anything right now and I hope you feel the same way too.”
She held his hand there a moment before releasing it; his hand remained rooted to the spot, slowly exploring the slightly puckered flesh. Before she could contemplate his intentions, he lifted her into his arms and kissed her soundly.
“J-Josh! Put me down!” Miranda attempted to struggle out his grasp but ended clinging to him as he spun her about the room. He laughed and she couldn’t help but join him.
This isn’t exactly what I envisioned . . . it’s so much better . . .
When he set her down at last, she was reluctant to let go. He lifted her face and kissed away tears she hadn’t known she shed.
“I’d like to go out. Celebrate. Why don’t you go get changed?”
Miranda bit her lip and shifted uncomfortably before him. “Rain check?”
“Sure.” With a tender kiss to her forehead he led her to their room. “How about a full body massage for my beautiful wife?”
Miranda giggled and started removing her work clothes. “That sounds wonderful.”
******
After a rejuvenating shower, Miranda crawled into bed next an already sleeping Josh. She brushed his sandy bangs out of his eyes, kissed his forehead lightly and switched off his bedside lamp. The room, now swallowed by an impenetrable darkness, seemed eerily small. Miranda snuggled against Josh and offered her mind and weary body to the snug arms of a blissful sleep.
*****
White hot light pressed against her closed eyelids, and drew her from a comfortable sleep. She quickly found that the light was everywhere, stretching in every direction as far as she could see.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
An unsettling laugh echoed in response, the sound stretching onward and filling the space.
“Who’s there?” Miranda’s eyes darted about in a vain attempt to locate the source.
A baby’s cry this time and she blindly ran in the direction of the desperate wail, relying on an instinct she was unfamiliar with. She skidded to a stop before a shadowy figure, prominent against the white backdrop.
“Who are you? Where’s the baby?” Her words returned to her in a mix of whispers and echoes.
“Miranda Evette Duncan, proud mother to be. Are you prepared for motherhood’s journey? Are you aware of what awaits your unborn child?”
The dark figure’s words danced about her, tearing through all her senses like a knife.
“I’m prepared.”
“I doubt that, when you do not know what’s in your daughter’s future.”
A girl . . . I’m going to have a daughter . . .
“Whatever the future holds for my baby girl, I’m sure I can handle it. I’ll feel like I’ve cheated in some way if I peek.”
What am I doing talking to this . . . whatever it is? I’m obviously dreaming. All I need to do is wake up.
“This is no dream and I am certain that you cannot possibly be prepared for the burden you are about to lift. Let me show you . . .”
It pointed at Miranda and her womb glowed with the same white hot light that woke her. With a blinding flash, images erupted running like an endless movie reel, rushing all around her, almost too fast for her to make sense of them. In one she held her daughter after birth, but the joy of the moment seemed to be ruined by the concern that painted her and Josh’s face. The doctor stood before them, talking soundlessly, a stern, serious look etched into his aged features. Her movie-self cling to her daughter and tears flowed down her cheeks. Movie-Josh reached for her, sharing her pain, then in the blink of an eye the image was gone, replaced by another.
This image featured her daughter a few years later on a school playground surrounded by girls that looked to be her age, sporting hostile looks. Backed against a fence and defenseless she could do little as the girls shoved at her and called her soundless names that brought tears to her eyes. Then, that too, was gone, quickly followed up by an image of her as a teenager, cuts gouged into her pale flesh and hands shaking visibly as she reached for a medicine bottle and emptied its remaining contents into her hand. Image after image rushed by, each leaving Miranda more emotionally drained than the last, until the final image stopped before her, moving in slow, vivid detail.
In this one, her daughter couldn’t have been over 20. She was dressed in promiscuous clothes that attracted trouble and drew the attention of one soul brave enough to approach her. From her staggering, Miranda knew she was drunk. Miranda continued to watch in horror as the man escorted her daughter from the club and drove off with her. She didn’t have to see the rest to know what was coming next.
“Stop it! Just stop!” Miranda collapsed to her knees and held her hands to her eyes, trying to purge her vision of the frightening images.
Is that what’s in store for my daughter . . .? Is there nothing I can do?
After countless moments of silence, Miranda stood and found the area engulfed in white once more. The figure stood as it had before, but this time it radiated a sense of triumph that she didn’t like very much.
What is it so happy about?
“So, Miranda Evette Duncan? What will you choose? Will you raise a child destined for destruction or end its suffering before it can even begin?”
Its words whispered inside her skull, taunting her, enraging her. As if to make things more difficult for her, a light descended from above, settling before her within arm’s reach. That light called out to her and when she reached for it, it morphed into her unborn child, defenseless and beautiful. It let out a pitiful cry of desperation that dug at Miranda’s heart.
“Choose, Miranda Evette Duncan. Time grows short.”
Looking down at her precious unborn child wriggling in her arms, she knew what she would decide and what she must do to. She had resolved herself to hardship at the doctor’s office, and though it was nothing like she imagined, she would face these additional obstacles head on.
Light engulfed both her and her daughter before waning to reveal a heavy armor shielding their bodies.
“I will protect this baby with my life.” Miranda held out her hand and a sword materialized. “I will protect her from demons like you!”
She charged at her enemy and slashed him into non-existence. She turned back to find her daughter missing. Before panic could settle in, light washed over her drawing her into reality.
-THE END-
Writer’s Corner
Nothing is more important to a writer than attainable goals. I personally have a goal of becoming a successfully published Romantic Suspense/Thriller novelist. I’ve only recently made this discovery about myself once I began to analyze what I like to read. Naturally my goal of becoming a successful novelist evolved and became just a bit more specific, however, it is a very general goal, one that most self-help books or professional authors would suggest narrowing down to more attainable tasks. So how would one go about doing that?
If I were to tackle this, I would first divide my goal into what I intend to do to reach my overall goal. So first, I would select a project I wish to work on, because I have to have a manuscript to work with before I can even think about getting published. Then of course I have to be aware that completing a manuscript is a hefty task to take on and can and likely will be overwhelming if I approach is generally. This is where specific, daily goals come in. As of right now I’m preparing to start a book project in which I identify tasks and a target count I would like to meet each day and at the end of each week. By breaking things down into what I like to call “digestible bites,” I’m looking at a less overwhelming task, while at the same time progressing toward my sub-goal of completing my manuscript. Also, by completing my daily tasks, it gives me reason to celebrate and be proud of my effort, and that in itself, will be enough to motivate me through the next day and the next task.
Best of luck my fellow writers!
Useful Links for Writers
1. Description: Five tips on how to write a manuscript. (http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/how-to-write-a-manuscript-5-excellent-tips?et_mid=544876&rid=232935610)
2. Description: Some creative ways to revive a dead manuscript. (http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/how-to-resurrect-a-stalled-manuscript?et_mid=541174&rid=232935610)
Having attainable goals helps to keep writers focused. I'm proud of you. :)
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