“born”
wordcount: 470
1/?
/
it lay in the remains of the womb, and, like the floor, was slathered in the afterbirth and organs of its makeshift prenatal chamber.
it was still for several long moments, in the bare hotel room with peeling yellow walls and a thin bed. the only light was tinged an ominous orange from the lightbulb's rust and neglect. this place was not a hospital. this place had no crib nor midwife, but it would not require them.
it finally coughed violently, its large body jolting and its long beak clacking with the force, clearing its airway. its long, feathered neck stretched to its full length and its eyes blearily opened, and it looked around its place of rebirth. it looked down at the floor, at the remains of its blood and skin and meat shell (the hundredth, the thousandth? it didn't remember), and nudged the remains of the (its former) face, almost with a sense of sadness, a sense of loss, with a pale, disfigured, blood-drenched limb.
it trilled something deep in its chest, quietly, and blessed the fallen body; he (it) made it to twenty-three this time around. he (it) had destroyed his (its) own life from selfish whims and cruel acts. and it was disgusted with his (its own) cruelties, but it still loved him (itself). it always did.
it rose to its full height, head pressed against the ceiling and shoulders following; long legs flicked to get off the remains of its former vessel, trying to get some semblance of clean. pale flesh looked sickly in the lamplight, blood that was its own and yet not was darkening, and black feathers shimmered like pools of oil; an incomprehensible amount of feathered and bald and balding wings spread from its back best they could in the small space, and it sighed from relief from the ache in its bones. its finned tail swept behind it, knocking over a dingy hotel phone, and it rang a tone as it hung from the hook. it was paid no mind.
its head held new memories, new understanding for these creatures it had watched and counseled; its little trip into understanding them was now over.
it would employ its understanding in a place in-between and nowhere, with a tea table and a kettle and a sugar pot and a pitcher of milk and two cups facing each-other, one for it and one for a guest. it would return to its home to counsel the most fascinating creatures. it would one day inhabit a new flesh, perhaps. but that is a story for another day.
its maw opened up, showing its thousands of tiny, sharpened teeth, and it labored in a heavy breath, and it roared.
the light flickered, and it was gone.
there was nothing now but the flesh and the tone.