A woman suffers a deeply troubling recurring pregnancy.
Image generated with OpenAIShe had already delivered twice in the month of May. To her dismay, in another two weeks, she was due to give birth again.
The first time it had happened, she had been alone in her room in her father’s ancestral bungalow, the one she had long called home. Unable to coax sleep, she brewed herself a cup of chamomile tea in an electric hot water kettle, which she kept by her bedside, and poured it into a clear cup. This was a nightly ritual she swore by for a deep sleep. Before the beverage could touch her lips, however, she felt an intense pain in her lower abdomen. In agony, she dropped her teacup, which broke into a constellation of glass fragments. Avoiding the golden liquid and the broken glass, she crawled into another corner of her bedroom. Before she had time to wrap her head around what was happening, she felt something pass through her vaginal canal and into her needlessly floral underpants.
After gingerly taking down her panties, she almost fainted upon seeing an infant’s balled fist attached to a tiny arm lying there. Not only was it moving, but it was emerald green, covered in something akin to moss. There was also a generous amount of blood. Not to mention an ungodly smell. It appeared as if the arm had detached from the body; however, there was no blood at the severed end, just flesh and a hint of bone. Definitely not human.
Not having had the slightest clue that she was pregnant, she felt her head spinning, trying to make sense of what had just happened. For a full fifteen minutes, she just watched the arm lay there on the floor, gently moving. Feeling sorry for it, she picked it up, and the tiny fist held on to her index finger.
She considered flushing it down the toilet, but thoughts of it finding its way back, having grown, while she sat on the pot were much too unnerving. She wondered if she should burn it, but she knew she would not be able to bring herself to do it. She couldn’t even bring herself to eat veal, despite it being a popular dish in her father’s restaurant. So, she kept it in the drawer by her bedside table until she could decide what to do with the deplorable thing. For a few days thereafter, she thought it prudent to sleep with a knife under her pillow.
Two weeks after that worrisome day, the same incident had occurred. This time, the pain had been a lot more pronounced and it started when she was in the dining room gulping down a hearty meal with her family. She had been ravenous lately, often helping herself to two servings of everything, preferring a carnivore’s diet. The lack of blood in cooked meat had begun to irk her. However, this she told no one. Experiencing a familiar sensation, she quickly excused herself and ran upstairs to her room. When she took down her underpants, she saw a whole leg, knee and ankle intact, and her underwear a bloody mess.
While her mother knocked on her door asking if everything was okay, she placed the leg in the same drawer as the hand. Feigning strength, she said that everything was just fine and that she would be out soon.
Ever since she had been intimate with him, she had developed a craving for fish. Steamed or fried wouldn’t do; she had to have it raw. Occasionally, she’d defrost fish from the freezer and, with a zeal that could put bears to shame, devour it in no time, not even caring to debone it. Once, when fish was not available in her refrigerator, she reached into the fish tank, pulled out the juiciest goldfish, held it in her fist, watched it squirm, and swallowed it while enjoying the feeling of its fins rubbing the side of her gullet. In her last pregnancy, the axolotl her father had specially imported suffered the same fate. She remembered feeling shame after, but the craving had taken hold of her, rendering her helpless. The axolotl’s freakishly innocent face failed miserably to gain her sympathy. Cravings rose like tsunamis and destroyed everything in their path.
Her parents wondered why food was going missing, and were baffled to see their fish tanks sparsely populated. At first, her father suggested his wife was just being forgetful. But the missing axolotl left everyone stumped. The house help, who had previously been forgiven a transgression involving minor thievery, was let go.
When she went to the drawer to place the third instalment of the green infant, she found the first-born hand holding on to the second-born ankle. Briefly forgetting her fear, the sight made her smile. She gently placed the third-born hand near the duo. This time around, she had made sure she spent time in her room anticipating the birth. Her parents were still in the dark about her peculiar pregnancies and she’d have it no other way.
The fourth-born leg showed up right on time too, although it arrived toes first and she had to pull it out of her with a modicum of force. She held it out in front of her, breathing heavily.
Although she wouldn’t dare admit it out loud, she looked forward to the last few instalments of whatever this creature might be. The anticipation of what her child might look like consumed her. If the child in question were male, would he look as handsome as the father, and inherit his eye colour or pixie ears? So far, it seemed to have all his features and none of hers.
She had met him on a popular dating app. She swiped right as she favoured good looks and didn’t see colour. With his brown hair, hazel eyes, and emerald skin, she was quite taken with him. He had a majestically deep voice. If his voice were wood, it would be oak. When he spoke, it gave her goosebumps. He had agreed to meet her by the sea at a time when it was devoid of people. He had appeared out of thin air, explaining to her that it was easy for his kind to appear and disappear as they pleased. He didn’t speak much about his people, apart from their ability to teleport. Although he didn’t voice it, keeping their date away from inquisitive eyes seemed imperative to him. He told her how he was most comfortable by the water, claiming it calmed him. She’d been too busy reading his eyes to be able to read into anything he was saying.
After talking for four hours, they made out, and she felt comfortable enough to break her no-sex-on-the-first-date rule – for the third time. They assumed an empty beach was a ‘go’. When he took off his shirt, she couldn’t help but stare at the vast expanse of his chest, noticing he hosted no nipples. The foreplay had lasted ten whole minutes. He kissed like an elephant’s trunk searching for apples behind a fence. The little hairs on his emerald skin tickled her chin. The lovemaking escalated with the suddenness of milk boiling over. When she let him in her, he promptly disappeared. She waited a whole second with her legs in the air, the breeze caressing her bottom, before realising that he had vanished into thin air. Still half-naked, she ran into the ocean thinking she’d find him there. But no, he was nowhere to be found. Unable to make sense of what had happened, she wondered if he had existed at all. Or was he just a figment of her imagination? Two weeks after that fateful day, she gave birth to that mossy arm.
Next came the torso, with what could only be male genitalia. Furthermore, she noticed the absence of nipples and the unmistakable presence of a tail just like his father’s. No sooner did she place it in the drawer along with the rest of the limbs than the body parts began attaching themselves to each other. She watched, pupils dilated, and soon enough, a green baby missing its head nestled in the same drawer that usually contained the keys to her scooter. She gave in to her maternal urges and cradled her headless babe. That night she returned the knife under her pillow to the kitchen.
In the fortnight that followed, she noticed the child’s skin darkening, turning an unhealthy shade of grey. His movement seemed to have slowed down as well. Not being able to feed the headless baby, she wondered what to do. Then, with the rapidity of an imaginary bulb being switched on above her head, it struck her. Remembering his father’s affinity to water, she wondered if it might be a solution. So, she gently lifted the babe and bathed him, and sure enough, he began to regain his lost colour. The baby began flailing his arms and limbs again.
The day she had been waiting for had finally arrived. She placed the wriggling headless body of the infant she had birthed at the bottom of her bed. It lay there squirming on the cold tiled floor. She felt the need to surround herself with pillows to grab onto if the pain was too excruciating. This last part of the pregnancy seemed different. There was a constant hum of pain in her uterus. Nothing she did lulled it. Like guilt, it weighed her down, slowing her movement.
With a stress ball in her mouth to stop her from screaming, she spread her legs wide, her toes clutching the sheets, and bit down hard into it. With the tenacity of a charging bull, the head fought its way out of her. She had to push with every bit of strength her body could muster. A few unbearable minutes later, she delivered the little emerald head surrounded by blood. As if being pulled by an invisible piece of string, the head attached itself to the body nearby. The baby flailed his limbs about and let out a loud cry for good measure.
She lifted him and had a good look at his face, spotting the same birthmark her lover had on the bridge of his nose. Suddenly, the infant stopped his howling, his thin green lips forming a straight line. Then, he turned his head ever so slowly in her direction and smiled a familiar smile, the same kind that once made her heart beat faster. This time, however, the result was different.
She had never seen a newborn with teeth before. Whatever little courage her body possessed left her and ran down her legs, forming a warm puddle where she stood.
“We meet again,” the baby said in a low baritone she instantly recognized.
She felt her heart stop.
Tasting bitterness and revulsion in equal measure at the back of her mouth, where emerged a soundless scream, she realised he had not disappeared into the sea after all.
