Stories: The Little Womb that Could
[Because my dear lepsydreaming is twisted and gave me this prompt. I apologise. Blame her. I'll get to the rest of them in a bit]
There was a little womb that could.
So it did, in defiance of expectation and, some would say, natural law.
As for what it nurtured for those nine long moons, the stories say that the offspring never was like anything seen, before or since. Some said the offspring was tall, others short, while still others sucked their teeth, muttered unintelligibly and avoided the eyes of the querent. It was best not to attract its attention in general, lest the complexity of perceiving it were to do one an eternal mischief of the soul.
As for the womb itself, the very nature of what it had spawned seemed to have rendered it awfully, terrifically distinct. That was the only explanation future generations had for its continued existence through the centuries. It blotted out the loins in which it was couched, the very body of which it was part seemed to have been obliterated by its fecundity, erasing womanhood and crushing femininity in its peristaltic seizures.
They tried to legislate against it - passed laws and strictures while sweating in their suit-collars and parliamentary seats, but even ten thousand filibusters could not stand against the engulfing tide of menses. Unclean, they screamed, Foul and accursed filth. Know your place.
They drowned, choking on the clotted taste of iron - richer, more encompassing in its metallic mystery and power than any gun-barrel or drone. The essence of war itself was stained - a hundred nations were obliterated. Their signs and sigils, designs and ensigns were effaced, proud flags reduced to fluttering red rags.
They blamed the offspring of course. But they could not hold it back - a billion stem-cells regenerated and rejuvenated everything it touched, its amniotic tears fell upon primordial soil. Even unleashing the atomic power of the last nuclear fires did nothing but show mankind itself anew - the broken pieces of stars moving slowly back together again.
When the Kyriarchy finally fell, when the kings of the earth were confronted by the little womb that could, only those who smeared themselves with red were passed-over.
After, the Angel of Death hung up his blade, or so they say. Sat back to spend the rest of eternity watching documentaries on the bad old days before.
And now? Now, we live.
