In the dimming light, they force me to walk, but I am tired. In the distance is the continuous background sound of shouting and crashing metal. Behind us, flickering red light licks at grey smoke.
"Shh. Don't make a sound."
"Keep moving. They haven't seen us."
The walking never ends. I don't know who they are or why I must walk. My belly is too big and heavy. Every step aches and hurts. I am so tired, but they won't let me sit and rest.
Trees loom out of the dark, reaching out with crooked arms. Long grass and thorns catch at my clothes. Bodies on either side support me and relentlessly pull me onward. Stumbling over stick and stone. Grass and hill. Into the gathering dark of night.
Lost. Everything is gradually lost, but I was already lost, so what does it matter? There is no need to care. I shouldn't care. I shouldn't.
Sharp pains stab and roll through my belly. Oh. Oh. What is happening? What is going on? My legs sink beneath me. My breath can only come in sharp gasps.
"Quick. We need to find shelter. Somewhere we can boil water safely and where she can lie down."
Oh. Oh. It hurts. It hurts.
Sweat gathers on my brow at the intensity of the pain. Then, like a wave, it retreats. I can breathe again.
The people with me quickly haul me back onto my feet. They are untiring, pressed for time, rushing. Why? What has become so urgent?
"There! I saw the shadow of a building over that ridge."
"I'll go ahead first and see if there's anyone there."
My feet can't keep up with this speed. There's no way my legs can move that fast. What do these people think I am? Wait. What do I think I am? My tummy is big, but none of theirs is. Why am I not like them?
Oh. Oh. The pain comes again. In like a wave crashing on the beach. Then out again with a sigh of relief.
"It's an old house. It's been abandoned. I'll go and start cleaning up the dust and start a fire."
"Please do."
"Hold on, my Lady. We're almost there. Hold on."
Dusty straw makes me sneeze, but the warm fire is nice. The air is cold. A bed has been made for me and I am led to it. Sinking down in relief, I can feel the prickles of straw sticking up through the material covering it. It's a discomfort I can put up with while I deal with the waves of pain that rise and ebb. The pattern reminds me of the rising tide at night.
Oh. Oh.
When will this end?
Pains come and I heave with the pain that tells me to push. Push down. Push down. Breathe. Breathe. Push. Push. Breathe. A world of pain. I grasp the hand in mine, wanting to wail but not having the strength to. I hope the hand will give me strength. A world of red. An eternity. Hours upon hours.
A small, wailing bundle is placed in my arms. I look at the tiny child in the beams of dusty morning light and wonder why they gave it to me. Little eyes are scrunched up in discomfort. Little fingers open and clench. They should give it to its mother. Surely I am not its mother. Carefully, I give it back. The tiny thing is fragile. And red.
I just want to rest but the moment I close my eyes, I see red. Red everywhere. Everywhere is red.
Too much red.
A baby suckles at my breast. It is a warm, comforting feeling. This feeling of being relied upon. I don't know why they insist the baby sucks at my breast, but it is nice. This feeling. A need to protect. An emotion that heaves at my entire being, threatening to break through. Break through what? What is this? What does it mean?
I feel light. Freed. The heavy weight that was holding me back and down is gone. Gone. The house is gone. The forested land is gone. We sleep in a sun warmed, grassy hollow. A gust of wind blows through the tired camp. Salt. I smell salt water. It calls and beckons to me. In my mind, a place of tinkling water fountains and features play at the end of an avenue of apricot trees. Beyond the cliff, behind a palace is the open expanse of the deep, wide blue. While the world is sleeping, I follow the scent of the sea. Follow the breeze to find that place in my dreams.
Alone.
Bereft.
I miss the warm bundle in my arms. What it was, I do not know. I feel like I should. I should know. What was it? Was it important? If it was important, surely I would not have left it behind?
Under an avenue of apricot trees, I wander.
Finally coherent thoughts form. True thoughts that pierce through the fog.
Who am I?
Where am I?
Why am I?