the Isabel - SHORT STORY

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​

Alright, Isabel. Should we start? 

I'll check down from ten. At "one", you'll float into rest, yet despite everything you'll have the capacity to hear me. 

Lie back. Close your eyes. Inhale profoundly. 

Ten… 

Nine… 

Eight… 

It is safe to say that you are recalling yet, Isabel? 

Seven… 

Six… 

Five… 

I'm certain you are. How would anyone be able to overlook losing their unborn kid? 

Four… 

Three… 

Two… 

One… 

… Sleep. 

You recall how that night started, isn't that right? 

You heard a low, beguiling murmur rising up out of the city on the fountain of liquid magma where the Hollow Space God lives. You trusted he'd help you recall how that strangely formed tyke started developing in your virginal womb. So you cleared out the security of your family's Christmas festivities and boarded the corroded train, proposing to ride to the summit. 

The train auto was lit with a solitary, flashing light. No one was riding yet you. 

The train viciously crashed most of the way up the spring of gushing lava. You tumbled out and lay on the magma streams, looking up at the dynamic, falling stars. 

One star drifted over your navel for a minute prior gulping you. 

… Now, you guarantee you don't recall what happened next. That is the reason you came to me, would it say it isn't? 

In any case, I know the recollections are as yet concealing some place in your tangled personality, covered and holding up, and I should guarantee they never rise. 

Discover those recollections, Isabel, and overlook all of them. 

Disregard the creatures with silvery skins and clicking snouts who clustered around you in a void lit by icy starlight. Disregard the vile strokes of concealed, stretched fingers. 

Disregard the cry of the tentacled youngster that was grabbed from your hold onto as you sobbed, that half-human cross breed Prince of Hollow Space whose mouth was an abyss containing the universe. His eyes, dark openings that swallow light and separation. Inside those eyes, you saw all of time unfurling before you. You saw the wars to come, wars of overall decimation, wars your respectable child will wage. 

Disregard the quiet specialist who cut the kid from your midsection. You perceived his face in that faint room. How might you be able to not? You initially witnessed it, shadowy and indistinct, in the fogs of half-overlooked dreams the night your child initially mixed in your womb. It's the substance of the man whose voice you hear now. 

Disregard his face, his voice, his touch. 

When you wake, he'll just be an easygoing trance specialist. All you'll recall is Christmas with your family. You sang exuberant ditties. You drank sweet spiced wine. You were never pregnant. 

When you wake- - 

… Isabel? 

You… didn't rest when I instructed you to. 

Why not? … 

… Is that- - 

... 

… You deceptive liar! 

Try not to leave this room with that recording gadget! 

Uncovering the future, uncovering me, will be the occasion that lights the flares of war! 

That was no friend in need you birthed. Don't you saw your own demise sanctioned in your child's eyes? Didn't you see his dad executing millions in a genocidal rage when he learns of your selling out? 

The world's weapons will strike back, and- - 

… Isabel? 

… Isabel!!!

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