Nine Story Studios giving story a voice. Welcome to the Lift, get ready
to take the ride. Hello, I'm Daniel Foytech, and I thank you
for joining us for a special episode of Victoria's Left. Today we're presenting a
short story that was written for our collection, The Left nine Stories of Transformation,
and this story was actually adapted for audio and appeared on The Wicked Library
as episode number nine oh one, but since it is actually a Lift story,
we figured we would bring it home today. I do want to say
thank you to those who are supporting the show. We're gonna be able to
do some cool things with season five that we haven't been able to do before,
and of course we have our mini series to those who thrive in the
Dark. These things would not be possible without the support of our Patreon supporters,
and we do greatly thank you for your support. If you like what
we make here and you want us to keep making it, you can support
the show on Patreon at patreon dot com. Forward slash Victoria's Left. This
is The Baron by Meg haftall starring Jessica McAvoy and Amber Collins. The Baron
based on the short story The Baron written by Meg Hoffdall. Savannah expertly positioned
the plastic stick beneath her. Through the ragged, hypnotic haze of her lingering
nightmares, she coached herself to pee, whispering to her bladder come on.
Finally, she doused the stick as well as the edge of her right thumb.
Savannah flushed the toilet, pulling up her linen pajama pants, then setting
the urine soaked rectangle on the ceramic lip of the sink. Tingling hope tickled
up her sides as she washed her hands with mounds of foamy soape. Her
gaze flitted down to the pregnancy test, which still displayed the electronic image of
an hourglass. That physical manifestation of hope intensified. It gripped every muscle,
causing Savannah to shiver. She concentrated on drying her hands on the buttercream yellow
towel, her internal dialogue a flurry of contradictions. This could be it,
this could be the time. Don't get excited. It'll only hurt you.
It'll take another piece of you. Keep it together, Savannah, She pursed,
her lips, breathing steadily as she stared into the mirror. Her ebony
curls were a wild, matted mess. Although she tried to keep her focus
on the eruption of fine new lines at the bridge of her nose, her
rebellious eyeballs shifted south, not fregnant. The two stark words were a sharp,
sudden disruption to her bubble of hope. Despair returned, as it did
every month. Savannah staggered back from the cruel rejection, fighting the tears that
obscured her sight. Kenji entered the open bathroom door, mide yawn. He
blinked at Savannah, its dark lashes heavy with sleep. You okay. She
curled in on herself as she crumpled to the icy tile. Her husband knelt
at her side, wearing the same mask of detached concern he always did.
He squeezed her thigh, negative, Why why me, It's going to happen.
It's just a matter of time. His indefatigable optimism burned a hole through
her heart. Sa Anna pressed her chin to her knees, overcome with a
quiet, seething rage. He gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and
stood Someday we'll look back on all this like it was a dream. We'll
have a kid, a couple of kids, and we won't even remember all
the bullshit. Kenji made it worse with his assurances, with his casual rake
of fingers through his thick hair. She had never felt so alone, drowning
in a pitch black well of grief, struggling to a surface that wasn't there,
that wouldn't reveal itself to her. There was no pinprick of light,
no hope. There was only her alone, an empty, childless husk.
Savannah made it to the clinic on time. She swiped the badge on the
end of her lanyard across the digital lock. Avette spoke around the green Starbucks
straw between her lips. Doctor harsh Gone wanted Jamaica lucky. We're stuck with
his overflow. Remember shit, that's right, it's going to be a long
day. Forget lunchbreak. Doctor Schmidt is going to push through knowing her Avette's
camel messenger bag rocked with the motion as she elbowed opened the door into the
dim waiting room. Savannah switched on the fluorescent lights. She blinked at the
austere room of gray and cream, unable to see anything but her own despair.
Doctor Schmidt came up behind them as a Vette tossed her cup in the
trash by the reception desk. Morning. Hope you ate your wheaties today.
We're picking up Fred's slack. He'd better bring me back a sparkly souvenir.
I wouldn't hold my breath a vet. Doctor Schmidt, effortlessly beautiful and the
mother of twin toddler girls, fiddled with the crumpled collar of her white coat.
Savannah closed her eyes, allowing herself to hover in the middle of the
waiting room. She wondered what sort of mourning her boss had experienced. Had
she dressed the girls in matching tights and polka dot blouses. Had she fed
them equal amounts of yogurt and fruit and lilac bowls? Had she thanked the
universe for her incredible luck? Even a Vette had sixteen year old Bucky,
who came by the clinic every now and then to drop off mc donald's or
to ask her for an advance on his allowance. Savannah's eyes popped open.
Her visceral rage had torn a painful, burning hole in her stomach. Her
usual appetite for coffee had drained away, leaving her both tired and nauseous.
Petit, Avett climbed up onto her towering chair behind the reception desk. Okay,
yeah, I'll get the door. She moved toward the glass, as
though in a dream, questioning the unreality of the morning. Despite the predictably
drab clinic and the normal banter of her co workers, it was difficult to
accept the not pregnant that had stolen her happiness. A woman waited outside the
half common Schmidt clinic door, sun streaming across her tanned ankles. Savannah concentrated
on the glint of light, how it played across the stranger's expensive leather pumps.
She pulled down on one bolt with her right hand while loosening another with
her left. When she yanked the door open, the waiting woman whisked inside,
peppering Savannah with a fragrant cloud of floral perfume. Good morning. Savannah
kept her eyes on the thin carpet. It was all she could do to
focus on being human, To walk, to breathe, to keep her emotions
inside like bubbling vomit that threatened to escape, would be the most she could
manage. The woman's swollen belly cast a shadow on the carpet. Hello,
hot as hell out there, and it's only eight a m. Savannah's ears
burned hot at the obvious attack on her already shriveled psyche. Of course,
the first patient of the day was largely pregnant. She worked to produce a
response. Uh huh, scorcher Oh. Savannah glanced up at the sound.
The woman's aristocratic, tawny nose caught at something in the shadowy corner of her
memory. Your savvy savvee chan, Yes Yamamoto now Ferris High, class of
O six. Don't you remember me? The woman reached out her sparkly charm
bracelet, clacking against Savannah's shoulders as she squeezed the flesh. Savannah's nostrils flared
at the potent perfume. She studied the woman's face and the length of her
tanned, extended arm, flecked with several dark moles. Their distinct uneven boarders
finally ripped open her mind. The name fizzled in Savannah's chest as Mackenzie dug
her manicured nails deeper into Savannah's shoulder. Mackenzie Burton, Yes, it's been
ages I didn't know you worked here. M you're expecting it's number four?
Can you believe it? Fertile? Myrtle is? What? Giovanni? That's
my husband. He's an orthopedic surgeon over at Saint Luke's. Mackenzie Burton hadn't
changed much since Ferris High. She'd spoken with the same haughty tone back then,
quick to point out Savannah's cheap shoes or throbbing pimple, and always to
a group of vile, tittering girls. Savannah could sense her memories of that
dark, disappointing time threatening to overtake her. She concentrated on the ripple of
baby beneath Mackenzie's stress. It moved visibly, presumably adjusting its cramped limbs.
Oh, he's a mover and a shaker. I'll tell you congratulations. Thank
you. You're a nurse here? Then? Yes, mostly for doctor Schmidt.
Ah, I'm a patient of doctor Hascomb's. Although I hear the bastard
is on a beach somewhere. Who goes to Jamaica in the summer right,
Savannah hovered, unable to unglue her eyes from her former classmates. Corpulent tummy
Yamamoto, you married, Kenji, I remember him, quiet but cheery.
The anger had become black, poisonous sludge. It traveled slowly through Savannah's body
like syrup, coating her veins and filling her with sinister notions. Kenji Yamamoto,
Oh, yes, after college, high school sweethearts. I think I
remember you two at prom? Remember that shit show? What a lark trying
to coordinate five hundred teenagers on a ferry boat. How many kids? The
image of the pregnancy test appeared in her mind. Not pregnant, none yet,
It's a blessing. You won't regret it. My children are my reason
for living, missus Burton Rossy. Doctor Schmidt is ready to see you.
I just need to scan your insurance card really quick, Oh, sir,
right away, Here it is. It was nice seeing you, savvee uh
huh. The hateful sludge slowed its nauseating course. It cemented itself in Savannah's
heart. She bit down on her bottom, lip tasting blood. In the
handicapped accessible bathroom with a sliding half door for urine sample collection, Savannah allowed
her jelly legs to crumple. The cool tile floor reminded her of her apartment's
bathroom, where she'd spend an inordinate amount of time. Lately, a fresh
wave of anger had joined her agony. It was the time capsule of her
teenaged horror, cracked like an egg and left to ooze. Mackenzie Burton had
been the archetypal bully, the sort of pretty, marginally clever girl who populated
bad teen movies. Yet she'd been real. She had punctuated Savannah's young life
with pointed size and pitying eye rolls, and she'd returned baby, straining beneath
her belly to flaunt her gifts. To remind Savannah years later that some people
have all the luck. That whether she was Savvy Chan or Savannah Yamamoto LPN,
she would have nothing more than a dusty womb full of tumbleweeds. Savanna
and a bit into the sensitive seam on her lip, licking at the iron,
the visceral image of her insides of a desert with no oasis formed into
something more ominous. She saw the sharp edges of her nightmare. A scalpel
expertly navigated through another's soft flesh, blood and slippery viscera lapped at her feet
like the touch of a foamy sea. It was her own hands in her
mind's eye, working out the prize, the pearl from the oyster. Savannah
watched herself pull out the diaphanous sack from the waterfall of blood. She carefully
pierced the placenta, widening and opening in order to see to meet her baby.
It had stark black hair, like Kenji. Savannah gulped in air,
drunk with the possibility of it all happening so soon. Now, to day
she could be a mother. To day she could hear her baby's cry,
feel the bottoms of its wrinkled feet, smell its unique and intoxicating aroma.
It was only Mackenzie who stood in the way, pompous, cruel, fertile
Mackenzie. In the fervor of her day dream, Savannah remembered the baby's ripple
beneath the thin fabric of Mackenzie's dress. It was so achingly close. Now.
As she rubbed the thread of blood on her chin, Savannah understood that
the baby had been calling to her. Hi, Mamma, Le'm me here,
Mamma, I'm ready to come home. The sounds of the busy clinic
burrowed their way into Savannah's ears, doctor Schmidt laughed about something near her office
at the end of the hall. Mackenzie joined in her braying giggle, upsetting
the last shred of Savannah's umbilicus to reality. She concentrated on the smudge of
blood on her palm, understanding, if she navigated through the rage, if
she let the molten hot fire lead her rather than burn her, Savannah could
be a mother today. It was easy to find Mackenzie's chart. Savannah calmly
clicked the mouse, hovering over the red tab, hitting print page one.
Before a vet could look up from her paperwork and glance at the screen,
the single page came out warm. Savannah cradled it, absorbing the address written
above Mackenzie's weight and height. What a bitch startled Savannah folded the paper stuff
and get into the Manila folder containing miss Armando's prescription instructions. Sorry if she's
your friend, but that blonde woman is hard to take. Always was typical.
Savannah hugged the folder to her chest. The certainty of her convictions straightened
her back. It raised her shoulders and lifted her chin. This was what
needed to be done, This was what it would take. I'm going for
a walk, I need some air. I'm sick er. Something you do
look a bit pale. I can cover for you. Thanks. Savannah turned
her back to a vette in order to slip the paper into the waistband of
her scrub pants. She dropped mister Armando's papers on the desk and headed for
the glittering call of the outdoors. On her way to the glass door,
the patience and the tables smattered with magazine took on an abstraction in her mind.
She was surrounded by only shapes and colors, encapsulated by a crushing tunnel
of things that no longer mattered. As soon as the muggy summer air whooshed
through the strands of her ebony hair, Savannah felt better. She strode to
the curb, breathing mindfully through her nostrils. The paper scratched at the skin
of her hip. It was a pleasant irritation, one that reminded her of
the task at hand, of the integral nature of her decision, of her
purpose. Savannah crossed Valley View Avenue, her eyes glued to the brick side
of the mini mall. Some one hanked, but it was tinny and inconsequential.
She shook her head, following the sloped parking lot to her destination.
Valley Mall was an old fashioned structure with ten doorfronts connected by a roofed sidewalk.
Savannah passed Rooster's Grill, her favorite lunch place, with a vet and
Sally's fabric and craft Maneuvering around the obstacles of people. She began to count
her steps, each one punctuated by the rustle of the paper against the thin
fabric of her underwear. The Ace Hardware's door was held open by a thick
rubber maid filled with pool noodles and squirt guns. Savannah nearly tripped over the
summer goodies as she entered the shop. A man only a brown and blue
shape in her periphery greeted Savannah as she rushed toward the tools morning looking for
something in particular. Savannah extended her finger carefully touching the toothed edge of a
hack saw. I'm fine For the first time since she'd pushed through the clinic
door. She wasn't sure that was true. It occurred to her, as
she lifted the saw up from its hook that she might not have it in
her that what it took to be a mother today might be too high a
price back away, Savannah, stop, this is nuts, amma. I'm
waiting for you. I'm here, mamma. At the thought of her baby
trapped inside Mackenzie, the weakness drained away, her limbs. Tingled with the
certainty of her mission, Savannah grabbed the hack saw, a utility knife,
and a folded tarp. She dropped her bounty on the shop counter. The
faceless man slowly punched numbers into an old fashioned till. He might have spoken
about the weather, but Savannah was too tangled in the web of her sharp
thoughts to be sure. A vague paranoia of being found out, of being
caught and ultimately stopped, threatened to overshadow the excitement of her plan. After
paying with the credit card in her scrubs pocket, Savannah nodded a thank you.
She swung the plastic bag of tools against her thigh. As she stepped
back out into the muggy day, sweat erupted on her top lip. She
licked at the salt, nearly blinded by the intense sunlight. A bench beneath
the feeble shade of the roofed sidewalk called to her. Savannah slumped onto the
wooden slats, staring back at the window display of sprinklers at Ace Hardware.
She was keenly aware of Mackenzie's address. Now a bit soggy, curled at
her hip, she settled the plastic bag beside her, unable to think of
anything else but the end result, her baby. Her baby wrapped in a
sweet blanket. Kenji would be thrilled an A morphous woman walked by her flip
flop, slapping the cement. Savannah smiled at the distinctive shopping bag in the
woman's grip. It was from the baby store, Tina's Tiny Treasures, at
the far end of Valley Mall. It had been a place Savannah actively avoided,
a reminder of her failures, of an alternate life she had been too
weak to fight for. Not now, not any more. Savannah rested a
hand on her wet brow, peering over at where Tina's Tiny Treasures would undoubtedly
have their tinted chalkboard. It would say something clever like splash into summer with
our new born swim gear. She squinted, unable to make out the pink
gingham curtains. The chalkboard Wasn't there? Either or the painted life sized elmo
that waved mother's in. Leaning forward, Savannah noticed a comforting shadow blocking the
sun's assault. It darkened the edge of the sidewalk, casting a cool reprieve
across her legs and then her entire body. Fear stole her breath. The
piercing, intrusive script of her thoughts stuttered. Savannah stood, disbelieving Tina's tiny
treasures had been leveled. In its stead was a towering building fused haphazardly to
the subway that shared a wall with the hardware store. Savannah concentrated on the
strange patch together seen between the sandwich shop and the ancient looking structure Tina's treasures.
The empty sidewalk grew cool. Blood rushed to Savannah's ears as a summer
breeze shifted the pool noodles outside ace. She moved toward the impossible building,
clutching her purchases beneath her odorous armpit. It was old and at the same
time now. She'd have noticed such a blight before, surely, yet here
it was stories higher than the squat mini mall. The windows were black,
taunting mouths. Savannah felt herself drawn to the peculiarly sentient edifice. A meek
piece of her consciousness wondered where Tina's Tiny Treasures had gone, and if this
meant she would have to buy her new baby's clothes at the super Target.
The throbbing forefront of her mind studied the building's classical lines. It bothered her
how it was obviously from long ago, beautiful and designed with an architectural eye,
but it had been crudely glued to the side of an artless shoe box
like subway. The incongruity ate at her as she found herself stepping further into
the cool, enveloping shadow of the behemoth. Hello. Yes, Savannah answered
back as a question, her mind fuzzy from the confounding building and more from
the feel of the sharp tools beneath her arm. A girl held the door
open with her skinny elbow. You're looking for the baby shop? Yes,
where's it gone? It was here last week. Savannah's eyes finally focused on
the small blonde girl. It was here a few moments ago. There was
a woman walking by holding a Tina's Tiny treasure shopping back. How does that
make sense, savvee? That nickname brought an image of Mackenzie rotund and insincere
anger caused red polka dots to stipple Savannah's sight. Yeah, clothes, I'm
afraid permanently coming, aren't you. I'm busy, Savannah panted, hearing the
crinkling of the plastic bag at her side. She knew if she didn't go
through with all of this now, the voice inside would get louder, and
it would only work to question her, to prevent her from getting what she
so desperately wanted, and what Mackenzie, it was clear deserved. The girl
with the blonde ringlets was eaten up by the door. She disappeared into the
darkness as it creaked on rusted hinges. Perplexed as to why she'd given up
on her so easily, Savannah followed. It was twenty degrees cooler, maybe
more than the valley mall loot. Savannah's eyes adjusted to the damp darkness.
Her nostrils wiggled at the unmistakable scent of must goose. Bumps etched their way
up her arms, ending at the short sleeves of her scrub top. My
name's Victoria. Not that what we call ourselves really matters. I could say
I'm Edith or George. And it wouldn't make a whit of difference, would
it, Savannah? The girl leaned casually against a wall tattooed with mildewed wallpaper.
Savannah bit down on the sensitive part of her lip where she drawn blood
earlier. This girl, Victoria, she was like the building, an old
thing haphazardly stuck to a new thing. Her formal hairstyle and her velvet dress
with puff sleeves was wholly wrong. The girl patted at something cradled in her
arms and yina her named. Don't you huh remember? Savannah's gaze dropped from
Victoria's strangely wise face down to the item. She carried the baby doll's bald
head and pink, gummy smile for Savannah to stumble back. She goggled at
the impossible. It was more unbelievable than a building that sprouted from the ether.
It's Donna. She bit harder at the familiar site, tasting metal.
Donna, her cabbage patch all, the very one she'd walked around the neighborhood
in a cheap plastic baby carriage, the one she'd rocked and fed and dressed.
It had been her own small hands that had put on the striped pink
sleepsack that Donna wore. As she rested her head on Victoria's arm. All
three of them made their way inside the confining lift in a surreal quiet haze.
Savannah supposed Victoria pushed the button, but she was too transfixed by the
doll to even notice the door closing. Did you steal her? Victoria clutched
the cabbage patch doll tighter. The elevator trundled up its vibrations, waking Savannah
from her momentary paralysis. She grabbed at Donna swiftly, removing her baby doll
from the girl's pale hands. The plastic hardware store bag plummeted to the floor
with a cleanch oh. Savannah pushed her thumbs into the baby's soft metal and
then caressed her cold, bald head. Donna had been part of the Premi
collection, smaller than most cabbage patch dolls. Touching her feeling her weight,
triggered a fresh seepage of rage. You stole her from my things. Savannah
couldn't remember where and when she'd last seen Donna. Had it been a decade
in the cramped attic bedroom that had once been hers or had Donna come to
the apartment and she shared with Kenji, tucked away in a box with old
polaroids and long ago art projects. Whatever the case, this strange girl in
the formal dress had taken her. Here we are. Savannah concentrated on Donna's
synthetic eyes. The earnest nature of the painted irises made her at once furious
and melancholy. Her feet moved her off the lift and onto the second floor,
while her brain only worked to understand the doll in her grip. It
is approve of stealing, of course, Victoria swung the Ace hardware bag Savannah
had dropped. It blacked against her little thigh. Unless it's justified, unless
a person truly deserves what they are stealing. I don't know what you.
Savannah clamped her jaw shut. Where she stood. It was like Tina's tiny
treasures better. A row of magnificent cribs stretched down either side of the endless
corridor. Each one was different, mahogany, rustic, timber, gold flecked,
ivory. Breathless, Savannah marveled at the beauty. Surrounding each crib was
a tableau of what could be. There were rocking chairs, side tables with
the diaper holders of many colors, rocks, toys, and bookshelves decorated with
pewter bears. Like a hapless component of an electrical charge. She was drawn
to the pretty things, the things she always wanted but never seemed to have.
For it was women like Mackenzie, like doctor Schmidt, or like a
vet who could have babies, not her, not her. As though to
accentuate this point, Victoria has stood beside Savannah and patted her empty womb with
her tiny palm. There's something growing inside of you. Shut up. It's
ugly. It's the opposite of what you want. It's all the bad ideas
of mean putred thought. Savannah. You don't know, You have no idea
how badly it hurts. A physical pain shot through Savannah's abdomen. The little
girl paced, finally resting her arm on an oak crib. You hate her,
Mackenzie. She was crue to you in high school. Yes, she's
haughty, spoiled, immature. Yes, and she's a mother of three with
another on the way. It's not fair. She wouldn't even care or notice.
Blood coated Savannah's tongue. She bit through the pain pleased at the taste.
The oak crib with the giraffe mobile and cheetah printed bumper called to her.
Savannah reached out, touching the railing with a single finger. Victoria stepped
away, allowing Savannah to wrap her hand around the top rail. It was
real, it was solid. You were going to eat the soul. Savannah
stared at one of the soft yellow giraffes. I don't want to hurt anyone.
That's a lie. You want to hurt her to make her suffer for
being a fertile myrtle, for being a brat, for being a mother.
You were going to cut McKinzie open to get what you think you desive.
For the first time, Savannah admitted to herself that this was true. She'd
only allowed herself fragmented ideas, but now she could finally see the entirety of
her plan. At this the weight in her arms changed. She looked down
to find Donna had disappeared. Instead, there was the hack saw, wrapped
in a soft baby blue blanket. Savannah gasped at its menacing teeth. The
giraffe mobile began to spin, trembling. Savannah dared to step closer to the
crib, Pressing her belly against the rails. The hack saw slipped from her
arms, sliding to the clapboard floor. Entranced by what she would find,
Savannah peered down into the crib. The vibrant crimson of dried blood caught her
eye. It was smeared against the cloth bumper sides and stippled across the jungle
themed comforter. A lifeless lump was visible beneath the gore. Nausea mixed with
the deep well of anger as she slowly pulled the blanket. You've done this,
You're responsible, and it didn't matter. Savannah's hands shook violently as she
yanked the final inches off, revealing the blood soaked head of an infant.
Rivulets of red trailed down into the familiar pseudo eyes. Savannah grabbed Donna,
naked and tacky with blood, from the mattress. She clutched the doll to
her chest, nearly drowning in her own grief and rage. No Savannah staggered
back, her eyes adjusting to her new reality. The rows of cribs filtered
away, giving form to the sterile, hollow hall of a hospital. It
was the hazy, incomplete set change of a dream. Hello, where'd you
go? And sadness tooke anger. We don't stop, it will grew larger.
Hello. She raced down the hall, her sneaker squeaking on the waxed
floor. Every room, even the nurses station, was empty. If savannahs
stopped in what looked like a waiting room, one stalked with magazines displaying bright
pictures of cherubic babies, something rippled inside of her. It was unlike any
sensation she'd felt before. It was as if her body wasn't her own.
Savannah rested a hand on top of her belly, shocked to discover it had
taken on a new, rotund shape. She sat Donna carefully down on a
chair, and then returned both hands to her alien stomach. It grew by
the second, straining the tight hem of her scrub top and stretching her pants
to their macs. Oh my god, it was too wonderful, too perfect
to be true. Her belly button audibly jutted out with a pop, while
stretch marks carved uneven lines on her sides. Then the thing moved, twisting
her insights and creating a bizarre ripple at the base of her enormous abdomen.
She reveled in the feel. Tears muddied her vision as she desperately searched for
its return against her skin, the scrub pants cut into her flesh. Savannah
slipped them off. A piece of paper flitted to the floor. She removed
her top, next, instantly greeted by a swollen pair of breasts that spilled
over the cups of her braw Had she willed this to be? Had?
She wanted a baby, so ardently that the universe was providing. You have
to decide, you have to let it go. Why. Savannah proudly massaged
her massive belly. Her inner voice was trying to say something, but she
muzzled it. Suddenly, a whoosh of liquid slashed at her sneakers. She
glanced down at the clear fluid the nurse side of her, Waking at the
immediacy of what had happened. Savannah touched her bare wet thigh, realizing she
was in labor alone. A walloping pain stole her breath, causing her to
sink her nails into the soft wood of the chair's arm. The anger,
Savannah, it's holding you back. It made you think there's things today make
there's vile plans. Savannah fell to her knees, grasping at her pained middle.
Oh help yourself. In nursing school, Savannah had witnessed many women in
labor. She'd wondered what it might feel like a million times, but this
wasn't what she'd expected. Blood, black and viscous pulled beneath her. She
was sure the baby inside the thing was eating its way out with razor teeth.
Every nerve in her body was on fire. Ratcheting up when she thought
it wasn't possible to hurt anymore, Savannah tried weakly to crawl toward a hospital
room, but her legs gave out and the bloodied muck. She flipped onto
her back, Trying to focus on the square tiles of the ceiling, her
vision waxed and waned, threatening to desert. Her drumbeats of rhythmic pain shook
her entire frame. Savannah whimpered, wishing she had Kenji or anyone who could
whisper refreshing axioms in her ear and assure her this was natural. But although
she'd never carried a baby in her belly, Savannah knew this wasn't the way
of things. The pain that blossomed in sight of her was a different animal,
a blistering pimple with only sludge to expel. She curled onto her side,
and through the agony, could make out Victoria's patent leather shoes and frilled
socks. The little girl knelt at Savannah's side, her eyes more sincere and
empathetic than Donna's could ever be. She gently stroked Savannah's sweaty cheek. Relief,
yourself a Savannah moaned, knowing that this fight changed. She couldn't let
what churned inside of her free in its exodus. It would rip her apart.
Her legs cling together instinctively, she cried hot, fat tears, then
held her breath, ignoring the urge to bear down and push the lava from
within. It's not fair. It's not fair that anyone gets to be a
mother, but not me. You're wrong. It shouldn't matter what we call
ourselves, but it does. A seam of fire seemed to work its way
through Savannah's metal. She leaned her head back, the ends of her black
hair glossing through the putrid blood. Victoria grasped her hand. Savannah, you
are a mother. It had been on since the day you got Donna?
Do you remember? What do you remember? Savannah closed her eyelids, navigating
through the intense pain. It had been her birthday, hot and sweaty,
just like today. Donna had been wrapped in mint green tissue paper. When
Savannah had seen her, smiling and silently asking to be loved, she knew
knew she was meant to be a mother, the good, warm, happy
sort of mother who was born to it. An incredible sense of purpose burrowed
its way into her tortured mind. She found the strength to sit up,
to take in a long lasting breath. I lost myself. Yes, it's
not about fair, the little girl nodded. Savannah realized the pain was subsiding.
The top of her belly deflated slowly like a pool float, stuck with
a slender pin. I am a mother. The sharp fragments of her rage
splintered. She was left with only the purpose, not of cribs and music
mobiles, but of something else. Dressed in her soiled underwear, Savannah stood
up in the sticky pool of her anger. I am a mother. What
will you do about it? Victoria pointed to the chair where Donna waited,
clean and dressed in her sleepsack. Beside her sat the hack saw wrapped in
its blanket. Ashamed of how desperate, how angry she'd become, Savannah hung
her head. Not that not that she wasn't certain how she got back on
the sidewalk, or how her scrubs were placed on her clean body. Yet
she was standing in the oppressive sun. Donna Victoria, the building, and
her bag from Ace Hardware had all left her alone. Savannah squinted at the
assault of light, rubbing her flat stomach with her palm. She noticed that
while the building had disappeared from its temporary place beside subway, Tina's Tiny Treasures
hadn't returned. The structure was the same, a utilitarian square, yet it
had a new sign in the window. In fact, a woman with a
brilliant copper hair and a tattoo of a giraffe on her freckled arm was affixing
the final letter to the glass. Tina's moved over to arland All Plaza.
I think the woman stepped down off a step stool, taking in her work.
Oh all right. Savannah still felt trapped in the whirlwind of what she'd
just endured and what she'd nearly driven herself to do how's it look straight?
I hope? Savannah took a few paces back to read the words Southwest Metro
Child Adoption Services. She trembled, It's straight. Thanks, it's hot as
I'll get out, Savannah lingered, thinking of Donna, who she was now
sure she'd donated to a charity drive years earlier. We opened next Tuesday.
Okay, would you like a pamphlet? Savannah smoothed down the front of her
billowing scrub top. An emptiness filled within her. It was as though she
was suddenly brimming with an indefinable emotion, something she guessed a lot like hope,
Yes, Yes, I would. Today's episode featured Jessica McAvoy as Savannah
and the narrator, and Ambercollins as Victoria. Today's custom score was created by
our resident composer, Nico Vetes of We Talk of Dreams. Find Nico at
We Talk of Dreams dot com in streaming on Twitch. Artwork was created by
Jeanette Andromeda, illustrator, artist, YouTuber and all around amazing human. Find
her being creative at Jenette Creations dot com. Today's author was Meghaftall. You
can find more of her at meghaftall dot com. That's emmyg h a f
d a h l dot com. You can also find more of her work
here on Victoria's Lift and on The Wicked Library, and of course, on
Amazon dot com U