This is NOT an assignment. This is only a story that I recently wrote and would like some feed back on.
In the beginning, there was a set of quadruplets. Identical. In birth weight, size, color, all the way down to the shapes of their heads. As they each appeared into the world, they were laid side by side on a cold metal tray, covered in their mothers entrails, and blinded by an intense light.
They ripped their mother from the inside out. Bones cracked and shifted as dark crimson swam down the sterile white sheets of the hospital bed. Her breath waxing and waning as the nurse dabbed her sweaty forehead.
“You did wonderfully.” said the nurse, “Would you like to see them?”
She did not. The mother’s dark eyes wandered to a large window to her left. The pale, gray, light made her skin a sick white, and made her black hair even darker. Outside of her hospital window, in the distance sat a large ebony oak tree shrouded in morning fog. One tiny, orange leaf clung to branch while the violent wind made it sway to and fro.
A sudden cry broke the mother’s concentration. The quadruplets were alive. So alive. It made her sick. The doctor began emergency surgery on the mother. She was losing too much blood. The nurse ran to wrap the quadruplets in their respective blankets and whisk them all away. The wind began screaming against the windows as the mother’s heart rate monitor began to beep faster. The doctor pulled down his white surgical mask and looked gravely at the nurse.
“We need to take her downstairs.” He said.
The mother began to shiver. The leaf seemed to be getting further by the second and hanging on to the tree with all of it’s might. A tear slid from the mother’s eye. Through her pale, dry lips she mustered a breath.
“I don’t want to go.”
“Oh honey, it will be all right,” said the nurse. “It’s not so bad.”
The nurse began to snap the levers on the bottom of the bed to allow the wheels to move. The mother looked out at the tree as her bed was being pushed toward the door. The leaf tore from the tree and became lost in the fog. Her eyes gently shut and her body passed through the door. Her left arm slipped from the bed, tearing from the IV and dripping clear liquid in small puddles along the hallway.
A small cry began to echo in the dim hallway. Then another. And another. And, then, another. It was a crescendo of pain and the longing for love.The quadruplets did not have a name. They did not have a father. And they did not have a mother.