#twhehhe

There's a soft beating heart cradled deep in the earth. Smaller than the tiniest ant in a colony, barely there but beating on fighting its way in the soil all the way to the surface. It moves tectonic plates with its rhythm, shifts sands, and creates ripples in water somewhere miles away. This thing, this sound, this drum cradled between roots, mud, clay, and rock is life. Its mother- the same one who produces the brightest flowers that makes the sweetest honey and cultivates the most deadly insects to spread diseases- is earth. She struggles to move this heart in her womb out. This parasite, the one she held so tenderly with care and warmth well fitted for a mother, moves the solid muscle under her green skin in hopes to rid herself of this tumor. She's given too much to this specific young of hers whatever it is- whoever it is and she wants it gone. So she sends mountains crumbling in her wake, whole forests collapse with her agony, the waters in lakes shake so hard some of the fish turn over dead, nothing seems to turn over kindly, she is ruthless. A ball of roots sprouts from her, it holds her child in her earthy placenta. Sap, worms, insects, and spiders all crawl around; and inside the woven roots the smallest trace of vertebrae life peeks through this cage. An eyeball creeks open, there is crystalized mucus in the corners of their flesh, liquid drips from their eyes, it reaches its hand up to wipe away the collecting tears that cascade down its fleshy dirty cheeks. Snot dances down its nostrils no matter how much it seems to wipe away the grime collecting at the openings of its flesh it never seems to stop coming back. It frantically grabs at its skin unsure of if what they are is real. Their hands flex the digits sprouting from their palm; they groan as every digit pops at the joint.

Trying to stand they realize the cage they are in and rushed air fills their lungs. The feeling of cool wind scratches at the walls of their esophagus and that seems to hurt more than being trapped in this rooted prison. Frantically they grab onto the walls around them tearing at the roots in bunches. The damned things seem to grow back faster then it can rip them apart, they feel a hot pool of rage heating up their neck and back. He lets out a screech unfitting for a man but keeps on tearing. The walls stop growing back and he's gained control of his confines. His tearing ceases and his left hand reaches the outside world first then his right one follows suit soon his head and then when he moves to put his last leg out into the world the roots seem to catch on his ankle. He topples over into the open world belly first and groans, ripping his foot from the roots tied around his ankle. He's free. He pushes himself up from the ground. The sun blinds him and now he's remembering what it's like to see.

He tries walking but for him it becomes more stumbling. He's a fresh born fawn scraping for purpose. A gust of wind hits his bare back and he shivers. He finds himself wrapping his arms around his torso making his way into the trees around him. The little chirps of birds and creaking of branches in the wind remind him what it means to live. The grass in-between his toes, the dirt under his nails, and the buzzing of insects in his ears all sing to him. He scuttles into a small clearing and the trees around him seem to shift on their stumps moving in formation like knights might to a king. He hums and brings his hands back down to his side. There's a building not too far ahead of him. The claws of his mother have begun to crowd the cement and glass leaving traces of her embrace in the cracks of its walls. He reaches the large metal door and sucks a deep breath in when his palm pushes onto its cold metal. A sharp pain stabs behind his forehead and lingers deep in-between his eyes. He clutches his head and settles his weight fully into the metal prying the door open. He falls first onto the floor and hears a crack near his right ear. A sharp light hits his retinas and then black dots bubble into his vision, his world goes to black.

“My child.” Warm that's the first feeling that comes to mind. He responds with a groan. “I have bared your flesh deep within my soil. Cradled you in the vines of my womb. This gift I have bestowed upon you is what my dearest creations call ‘life’. There is no sacrifice I have given more than to break off parts of me to give to you. My roots feed your veins, my clay builds your bones, and your brothers and sisters sew your skin.” This voice- this thing boasts its image like a mother. “Your life comes with a price my young…” Trailed by a dramatic pause, the weight of the world seems to shift with her words.

“Who are you, my mother?” he hears himself in his deep slumber far away and quiet and at this he knows he is not conscious.

A soft chuckle rumbles in the deep black space. Whoever this is seems amused. “Ah a smart one I see!” A cold sensation kisses his right shoulder. “Not quite. You are not mine originally but in time you will bring back to me what is mine. That is your price, my ward.”

The cold creeps up his back and the dark of the world seems to fade back into dust and vines. There's dirt in the air and his vision is taking in light. He's face up resting on what seems to be a tiled floor. White, hard, framed by black grout and once sterile, he moves to stand back upright again and catches himself on the wall to his left. There's a silver reflective metal on the wall opposite of him and he recollects it as a mirror. There's a deep seeded memory inside him that urges him to shuffle towards his reflection. What he sees is a man, one he's seen and not seen before. He smoothes his fingers over his flesh and recalls someone else running their hands over his cheeks before him. He's rough around the edges and his hair seems to think so too as it's taken on some sort of tangled shape. He concludes he needs a shower and turns his gaze downwards at his nudity and thinks ‘I should find some clothes too’.