[Closed] Rock-a-bye
Title:Rock-a-bye
Characters: Meisa and Misono
Location: New York Downtown Hospital
Week: Week 17, Friday, December 17th, early morning
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Meisa had said she could see the babies at the hospital.
Meisa had said to be there at eight.
Misono got there at six, just to be sure.
She couldn't help herself. Though she'd never want to own her own baby--they got boring after a while, they really did--she loved having a baby. She loved being able to hold them and feed them and change and bathe them. She loved the way they smelled and the way they didn't work quite right and the way they grew up. She loved their warmth and their openness and their honesty. She hadn't had a baby since Japan, though once upon a time there had been the promise of a baby.
With hours to wait, Misono had brought along a brush and ink and paper--not her full kit, just enough to doodle with. Seiza on the floor, the paper on the seat of a chair, Misono wrote all the words she knew for babies. Akachan, chinomigo, shoseiji, osanago, eiji. They were all good words but none of them really described what a baby was (though all the 'aka' ones came close--babies WERE red. A lot). She changed papers. She would teach Meisa her favorite word for 'child'. The one with the rake and the rain and the shelter, the one with the child and the pity and affection. The tool to turn the Earth and change it and cause things to grow. The box to shelter beneath, the rain that came as sorrow and as renewal and life. It wasn't the word for a baby, but it was what a baby was and meant.
Humming a lullaby, Misono wrote and waited for the time to pass.
Characters: Meisa and Misono
Location: New York Downtown Hospital
Week: Week 17, Friday, December 17th, early morning
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Meisa had said she could see the babies at the hospital.
Meisa had said to be there at eight.
Misono got there at six, just to be sure.
She couldn't help herself. Though she'd never want to own her own baby--they got boring after a while, they really did--she loved having a baby. She loved being able to hold them and feed them and change and bathe them. She loved the way they smelled and the way they didn't work quite right and the way they grew up. She loved their warmth and their openness and their honesty. She hadn't had a baby since Japan, though once upon a time there had been the promise of a baby.
With hours to wait, Misono had brought along a brush and ink and paper--not her full kit, just enough to doodle with. Seiza on the floor, the paper on the seat of a chair, Misono wrote all the words she knew for babies. Akachan, chinomigo, shoseiji, osanago, eiji. They were all good words but none of them really described what a baby was (though all the 'aka' ones came close--babies WERE red. A lot). She changed papers. She would teach Meisa her favorite word for 'child'. The one with the rake and the rain and the shelter, the one with the child and the pity and affection. The tool to turn the Earth and change it and cause things to grow. The box to shelter beneath, the rain that came as sorrow and as renewal and life. It wasn't the word for a baby, but it was what a baby was and meant.
Humming a lullaby, Misono wrote and waited for the time to pass.