15/10/2023
You can win them all, I suppose. My entry into the 500 word short story competition at NYC Midnight follows. Judges feed back in comments. I did not move on the second round.
'On Being a Mother'
Synopsis: Danae encounters an opportunity to ease another mother's pain following her own personal loss. Will compassion lead to comfort, or further break her heart?
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Danae mouthed the words to ‘Heartbreak’ in anthem with Beyonce, piano melody trickling testimony of personal anguish through earbuds while she waited in the apathetic checkout line.
‘I swear I tried. You took the life right out of me. I’m so unlucky I can’t breathe’.
A young woman, milk pale and disheveled in a way that reminded Danae of the struggling souls lined up along soup kitchen sidewalks, was attempting to purchase baby formula. Near translucent skin contrasted the grime caked underneath cracked nails as trembling fingers offered up what appeared to be crumpled, foreign bills. The woman’s eyes plead for empathy as they were refused by the cashier’s masculine hands.
She emitted an odor of refuse and weeks-old sweat. Danae could tell she'd tried making herself presentable despite her stench; greasy locks, twisted into a braid and secured with a neon green shoe string, cascaded down her back.
Hints of untarnished turquoise peeked from between the faded, frayed pleats of her dress. Danae imagined the original shade had likely lent vibrancy to the pale blue-green eyes of its unfortunate owner.
The cashier's face reddened, mouth contorting inward with disgust. A tear drifted silently down the woman's cheek as he wiped his hands down his trousers before reaching for hand sanitizer.
Universal signaling. Misfortune equals contagion.
The overhead bell jingled as the woman slipped empty handed through the exit.
Defeat.
Danae's arms longed anew for the unmoving, silent weight shortly held amidst pastel scrubs and meaningless murmurs of comfort in the cold, sterile hospital room just weeks before. She'd been preparing for the arrival of her own child and her heart stuttered at the ease of which necessities were gifted to her, only to be returned or donated, while witnessing this mother’s excruciating disadvantage.
Danae's brow furrowed. Maybe…just maybe…helping this mother might lessen her heartache? Just a bit?
She added the formula to her purchases, ignoring the cashier’s eye-roll as she swiped her card.
The bell jingled again.
Compassion.
Danae spotted luminescent skin and faded silk, haloed in the golden glow of streetlight two blocks ahead. She pursued until pallor and dusky turquoise slipped away behind rusted zippers and a camo-green, waterproof canvas beside overflowing dumpsters.
She inched toward the tent, muffled cries of an infant making her chest ache. The weight of her grief was crushing, leaving her body wanting home, mind wanting solitude, heart wanting relief.
Her voice quavered as she tugged the zipper, 'Miss? Hey, Miss?!'.
Her anxious fingers ripped the flap open, determined to be the helper if she couldn’t be helped.
'I don't want to startle you, but-'.
Danae collapsed, unable to breathe as she surveyed the scene before her.
Rotting in the corner of the tent was a young woman, hair tied with neon green, worn turquoise dress exposing a collapsed chest. Frayed, crocheted blankets were cradled in rotting arms.
A tiny, mottled hand lay visible and lifeless against the delicate curve of the mother's breast.
Danea’s earbuds played 'Heartbreak' once again.
