NanoWriMo 2009 - Fic 12
Nov. 12th, 2009 09:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deathpixieThank god for tiny ghosts!
"Isn't she beautiful?"
"She has your eyes."
"And your chin. See that little jut? She's going to be stubborn, just like her daddy."
"She's going to be perfect. Look at her hands. She's so tiny."
"She didn't feel that way coming out, I can tell you."
"My hand's still numb, you know. I think I'll be bruised for a month."
"Wimp."
"After watching that? Totally."
"Oh, look, she's yawning! Isn't that precious?"
"She's had a busy day, getting born and all. She must be exhausted."
"We both are. But I don't want to let her go now she's finally here."
"There will be plenty of time, sweetheart. A whole lifetime, in fact. Let the nurse take her for a nap - she needs her sleep. She's got a lot of growing to do."
Footsteps echo in the dim hospital halls, slow and measured, like the footsteps of Time itself. The figure that appears is tall and thin, face hidden by the folds of a long scarf, despite the summer warmth. The figure is a shadow against the bright colours of the maternity ward, the black clothes out of place in that atmosphere. It freezes still as a nurse bustles past and she sees nothing, continuing about her duties.
The nursery is like a chocolate box, each cot containing a prettily-wrapped delicate treat. Pink wrapper, blue wrapper, yellow wrapper, white... the figure moves among the cots, pausing here, pausing there, as if seeking a particular one.
Hello, my name is Baby Carter...
She coos sleepily as the figure stoops over her, newborn vision fuzzy and indistinct. A groping hand frees itself from the blanket, waves blindly until it latches onto the rough wool of the scarf. When the figure speaks, the voice is deep, melodic, even at a whisper:
"Eat your vegetables."
Message delivered, the figure moves on. Behind him, Baby Carter burps once and goes back to sleep, a lifetime of Brussel sprouts, cauliflower and broccoli ahead of her.
"Isn't she beautiful?"
"She has your eyes."
"And your chin. See that little jut? She's going to be stubborn, just like her daddy."
"She's going to be perfect. Look at her hands. She's so tiny."
"She didn't feel that way coming out, I can tell you."
"My hand's still numb, you know. I think I'll be bruised for a month."
"Wimp."
"After watching that? Totally."
"Oh, look, she's yawning! Isn't that precious?"
"She's had a busy day, getting born and all. She must be exhausted."
"We both are. But I don't want to let her go now she's finally here."
"There will be plenty of time, sweetheart. A whole lifetime, in fact. Let the nurse take her for a nap - she needs her sleep. She's got a lot of growing to do."
Footsteps echo in the dim hospital halls, slow and measured, like the footsteps of Time itself. The figure that appears is tall and thin, face hidden by the folds of a long scarf, despite the summer warmth. The figure is a shadow against the bright colours of the maternity ward, the black clothes out of place in that atmosphere. It freezes still as a nurse bustles past and she sees nothing, continuing about her duties.
The nursery is like a chocolate box, each cot containing a prettily-wrapped delicate treat. Pink wrapper, blue wrapper, yellow wrapper, white... the figure moves among the cots, pausing here, pausing there, as if seeking a particular one.
Hello, my name is Baby Carter...
She coos sleepily as the figure stoops over her, newborn vision fuzzy and indistinct. A groping hand frees itself from the blanket, waves blindly until it latches onto the rough wool of the scarf. When the figure speaks, the voice is deep, melodic, even at a whisper:
"Eat your vegetables."
Message delivered, the figure moves on. Behind him, Baby Carter burps once and goes back to sleep, a lifetime of Brussel sprouts, cauliflower and broccoli ahead of her.
