Brandy - A Change Is Gonna Come

She does it again. A vocal masterclass. Not based on a range, broad and high. There's simple no one like her!

Lovely, Still Gray Eyes (Flash Fiction)

 
This night's moon was lovely and the hovering coolness of the ending day sat still on the valley floor. The freezing winter would not arrive however, until the end of November.

In a small cabin deep in the woods of Modesto.  On a wooden table next to a broken window, with difficulty, Phoebe birthed very small baby.  And when the child's body was finally free of the womb, Phoebe moaned and tossed her head backwards in relief. The abortionist wasted no time.  After grabbing his blue bag of medical equipment he slammed it on the kitchen counter.  Yanking the child as worn luggage for leisure travel, he turned. Laid the dead child on a brown towel next to the deep white sink with two sides. The man's movements, purposed in routine, became an eager undertaking. Albeit fascinating, Lillian, Phoebe's mother, looked upon the man's undertaking with hardship. She blink when he ignited the hot water and hardened as rock beneath the sound of the water filling the sink. She decided to watch up close.

"I'll be back honey," Lillian told her daughter, Phoebe taking no time to occupy the spot next to the man. Because the interest, the sear wonder Lillian saw in his movements were appealing, she crossed her arms in slow approach. "What do we do with it?" He didn't answer but stopped the water once the sink filled to capacity. The child laid silent and Lillian shifted her eyes left and right, between the freshly birthed dead child and the purpose of the steaming hot water.

He looked at Lillian, "We clean it then bury it," as if fish was to be bought and sold. Startled, she followed the words back to his mouth and looked on his lips for a moment. She previously gave little attention to the deep huskiness of his voice which made her to think in gray waves circling about. He'd said little at the picked up. But his voice was odd and tasteless, unfitting to the shortness of his height and the lacking of body weight. He stood a small David of a man but his voice belonged to Goliath.

Phoebe suddenly hummed through her pain in perceived melody it seemed. The man and Lillian turned to her notes. The wooden table Phoebe laid was but a few feet from their standing position. But when Lillian viewed Phoebe it seemed steeply. Her daughter looking at the blue bag rose a depression in her chest, somewhat as a belch with no exit. This worsened by the way Phoebe hummed in tiny moans of pain. But lest duty be accomplish both turned back to the task of the disposing of the child. This small helpless dead child which could say no words but spoke only by the stillness of its presence. Though the knowing Lillian understood (as to the fate of the dead) she wasn't prepared for the callousness of the man's handling.

As quick as a breath, the man pulled child by both ankles. Held it upside down in the air. Then lowered it, first by the head, until body was completely in the water while his hands remained gripped about the ankles.

"What's the purpose?" Lillian asked. "The child is already dead. Wrap it up and bury it."

"To be sure," he said yet gave her no look. In time he released the ankles and both watched the tiding water rocking back and forth as the child sank like a wounded bird to the bottom. Lillian's interest widened greater than before, for the poor small baby was still, however, perfect in death. So much so she began examining the body of the child beneath the surface the water by counting the fingers and toes. Then looked upon its delicate chin. Cheeks sunk in deep. She reckoned the length. She then realized no ruler could faithfully measure preciousness, not for a child living or dead. And considered peculiarity when she noticed the child's eyes were as gray as the man's voice. Peculiar not because the eyes themselves were gray. She didn't recall the eyes having ever been opened!

The flesh above her brow wrinkled in curiosity as she leaned closer. The closer her lean, the greater the strangeness. She leaned closer and thought, wonderful, beautiful gray eyes. Even closer and thought, lovely, still gray eyes. A breath away from the surface of the water, she stood staring right into the peculiar, interesting gray eyes of the child. Then interest became hysteria once those gray eyes blinked twice. Lillian jumped back from the sink and grabbed her chest. The child began to move lightening fast beneath the water. The water splashed on the floor. The head and legs jerked with hot frustration. And Lillian's heart beat as if to escape her body.

"Oh my Lord!" Lillian said. "Mercy me."