Bursting out into this bloody mess out of the vagina of a woman who wears a badge,the name tag “Mother” it says.
The feeling of suffocation the effort to breathe, to stay alive. The warm big home of the newborn floating in the fluids without effort feeling the process of creation, feeling the sense of feeling as it grows.
She smiles the woman who wears the name tag as she holds him, smiling over the suffering of the child, a monster, the mother.
The moment of birth, the first breath, coming into this universe or coming out of it? The magician’s creation walking with time, till the last breath holding onto it. That awkward moment between birth and death.
Emotions, feelings, senses all fade away as he lies there. “He is 91” said the maid looking over him holding the hinges of the metal bed.
You see your children they say, their smiling faces, the beeping sound slowley fading away ,the last thought stuck in the back of the mind like a suspended chime clinging unsaid from the breeze.