Local Host – Deniz Cansu

She was sitting in the comfort of her own room. She had this educational book she steadied on her belly to read and a soft classical music was on. A quiet evening with a setting sun view from the half-closed curtains. But then she felt something different, something wrong with her. She tried to ignore it since everything seemed fine but then a feeling of dry wetness covered her entire body. With a mild struggle, she got up from her couch and rushed to the big mirror that covered the part of her wardrobe.

There were bruises everywhere but not in a usual way.  They had this pattern starting from her neck down until her left hand in circles. It was like her body was trying to tell her a story by decaying in shapes. She traced them down one by one with her fingers. The bruises up her neck were just sizzling and gave her a bittersweet feeling but as she went down they started to ache like hell and this melancholy mixed with grief made her want to puke until she touched the last one. The last one was a bit fader than the rest already, and when she touched it, she felt nothing. Remembered nothing.

With a dumbfounded look on her eyes, she was trying to understand what was going on. She stood in front of the mirror for minutes until the unholy voice came. The radio which was in harmony with peaceful piano and violin notes started to make scratching sounds. In between them, a deep, dark pitch formed awful sentences. “It is time. It is bloody. You have one chance, use it wisely” it said. And then this immense pain had arrived like it had its cue.

Her legs were trembling, her breathtaking its sweet time to reach her lungs, without a care for her. She collapsed to the, now bloody floor. She was starting to understand what was happening now. She had this slight opportunity hurry but she couldn’t see straight enough to reach the phone. So she did the next best thing she could. She pushed. And pushed. Her body was stretching, ripping her apart. After an hour, she was screaming with her everything to give it one more go. Surprisingly, it worked too. The source of this bloodshed was right in front of her. A tiny, red, human and female like shape was on the floor. She straightened up as quickly as she can to hold her little baby girl. She was beautiful even under all those layers of blood and body parts. She looked like a sleeping angel.

Her tears were cleansing them both right now while she held her baby as tight as she can. She couldn’t be any happier. She had everything now. A long happy life awaited them. Long walks in the park, baking cookies in the middle of the night, first heartaches and little arguments about curfews. Everything was right. But as the sun started disappearing, darkness brought presents. They rushed into her head. They were uninvited, wild and furious. They talked about things that she did not want to do. But as they settled in her head, everything started to make sense. She started to understand them. Even join them too. She took the nearest pillow with a natural attitude like she was going to use it to support her back, except for the non-human gleam in her eyes that showed something as unnatural as the recent birth giving. Pressed the pillow to her newborn with a manic rush and bewildered expectations. As the pillow was between her hand and her child’s face, she waited with this hype that consumed her. Like after her death, everything would be more meaningful, more tempting. But nothing happened. Killing, especially something of your own should have been something better, if not celestial. So naturally, she got bored. Found a cigarette stashed somewhere and lit it up while welcoming the now thicker darkness. Smoked it to the one last bit then put it out on her sleeping beauty’s mouth and crawled into the dried pool of blood to go deep into the longest sleep she ever had and will ever have.

 

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