Photo by Joshua Rodriguez on Unsplash
Seven days old. His achromatic eyes could barely see. We were, to each other, soft, living shapes.
I’d known my daughter better. I often lay by her crib, holding her hand when she cried. Her cot death was silent; our hands were still touching in the morning.
Emma chose to bear him anyway. After seven days, still bleeding, she couldn’t bear him anymore. So I took him, Nameless, to the haven.
A light alerted the nurse. I stayed until she received him. She ignored me. Beyond the pane, I watched the reaching, living shapes of his hands.
About the Creator
B.A. Durham
Literary Fiction | Midwestern Gothic | Science Fiction





Comments (8)
Durham your dedication shows in your work—keep it going, congratulations!
Oh my goodness, i want to cry. This feels like “elsewhere” in The Giver. Sanctioned mercy killing, if I’m understanding the haven euphemism correctly. And damn does that pack a punch. The backstory here is masterfully crafted too, like, there’s almost more to say on it than the present action, which rather informs it, than the other way around. Incredible.
Fascinating piece!
Chilling! I appreciate the mystery, and the very emotional subject matter. Congrats on placing in the challenge!
Very moving. Great work.
A moving piece, well done.
Really compelling piece, poignant and chilling!
Nicely done sir. Well written.