The woman in a white satin gown stringently clutched the yellow bony fingers of her child, suckling on a pumped breast milk that was three days past its expiration date. Chunks of coagulated milk had accumulated at the teat of the bottle, allowing only droplets of milk to pour out. The woman inadvertently cackled at a mere nothing; the cacophony of her laughter was that of a disturbing howl, amalgamated with an ominous tone that seemed to have drowned the Christian radio program blaring in the background. The woman cradled her child in a wooden bassinet. The baby was quick to fall asleep. Its face, is a shrivelled prune with a head that was far too diminutive for the body. It was no baby, rather a wrinkled piece of draft.
It was early for …show more content…
Her husband usually performed such arduous task, however, his absence had resulted her to barricade the house herself.
He was a miner, every two weeks he would fly out from the bushes and further into the barren site to mine for iron ores and crude oil. The husband and his wife is separated by a interminable distance.
The loud drumming hooves of the dry summer thunder reverberated the timber weatherboard that made up the shanty. The creature in the wooden bassinet moaned in a harsh screech, penetrating the cracks among the tiled slabs of the bedroom floor. The woman hastily ran for the baby, before grabbing the parched bible and the beaded rosary that was on the bench counter. The mother, not knowing how to cease the tumultuous cry of the baby, squeezed the baby in a tight clasp, soothing its back until the cry become a gentle …show more content…
The baby cackled and the mother turned her head. That’s them she thought. The mother, along with the baby hastily stood from the bed and sought refuge in the dresser that’s adjacent from the bed. She hid, knowing that at any given time that they will be coming to take her. She is not ready yet. She took the beaded rosary from her pocket and recited the verses of Genesis. Inside the dresser, the dry air is stale as it is fused with the smell of the moth balls. The jarrah wood groaned with each trudging naked footsteps. She could hear them calling her name. At this moment, the marching of the footprints awoke the baby from its sleep. The mother panicked as the noise of the crying baby could attract the attention of the figured shadow. She clenched the baby by its neck. Her rotting finger nails made its way into the exterior of the baby’s green skin. Digging until black blood poured out from its surface. The baby screeched in terrible pain. Sleep now child—she pleaded. She wrapped the rosary in the neck of the child. It only took the sixth rosary bead to wrap the circumference of the baby’s neck. The shriek of the baby turned into moan, then into a hum, and finally, into a breathless nothingness. The woman held the lifeless cadaver of the baby into her hands. She chuckled. She is now safe at least. The woman looked up on the cracks of the dresser.
It was early for …show more content…
Her husband usually performed such arduous task, however, his absence had resulted her to barricade the house herself.
He was a miner, every two weeks he would fly out from the bushes and further into the barren site to mine for iron ores and crude oil. The husband and his wife is separated by a interminable distance.
The loud drumming hooves of the dry summer thunder reverberated the timber weatherboard that made up the shanty. The creature in the wooden bassinet moaned in a harsh screech, penetrating the cracks among the tiled slabs of the bedroom floor. The woman hastily ran for the baby, before grabbing the parched bible and the beaded rosary that was on the bench counter. The mother, not knowing how to cease the tumultuous cry of the baby, squeezed the baby in a tight clasp, soothing its back until the cry become a gentle …show more content…
The baby cackled and the mother turned her head. That’s them she thought. The mother, along with the baby hastily stood from the bed and sought refuge in the dresser that’s adjacent from the bed. She hid, knowing that at any given time that they will be coming to take her. She is not ready yet. She took the beaded rosary from her pocket and recited the verses of Genesis. Inside the dresser, the dry air is stale as it is fused with the smell of the moth balls. The jarrah wood groaned with each trudging naked footsteps. She could hear them calling her name. At this moment, the marching of the footprints awoke the baby from its sleep. The mother panicked as the noise of the crying baby could attract the attention of the figured shadow. She clenched the baby by its neck. Her rotting finger nails made its way into the exterior of the baby’s green skin. Digging until black blood poured out from its surface. The baby screeched in terrible pain. Sleep now child—she pleaded. She wrapped the rosary in the neck of the child. It only took the sixth rosary bead to wrap the circumference of the baby’s neck. The shriek of the baby turned into moan, then into a hum, and finally, into a breathless nothingness. The woman held the lifeless cadaver of the baby into her hands. She chuckled. She is now safe at least. The woman looked up on the cracks of the dresser.