Mother And Child
Sucha way we com.
And all alone. Just him and me.
Corse, no food or nothn. But hedont, and I dont, need to eat or nothn. Not now.
Fuckin weird tho. Still not usedto it. He ent scared tho. Genius he is. He trusts me. Hes had to, like, whatelse. Sory for the words. I never got learned to read. Nor talk like, if it comto that. Dont want to say bout my life ifor I died.
For that zomby thing got hol ofus. It was all shit wern it.
Tryn to git outa Londun we wasand walkn on the ralway line cos no trains no mor was ther. And we was OK butthen this zomby com out one of them shed things and I cant run, Im too big andheavy by then and it slams its fist in my face, like a thouznd fuckers hav, butI spos it breaks my nek and so we, me and my darlin, are ly on the trak and it eatsa bit of me then wonder off of the line. Later I cum to and Im dead and Imnother of them – nother zomby, and so I spose he is, my lovly boy. So we go onagane, on up the trak. Walks miles we dun and then the citys gon and after weclime the slope up and go on along the rode.
Weeks, walkn. And then somethinbut I dont kno whot. We just wore out maibe. Died agan, praps. Mustve. Both ofuz.
But when we cum to next we rize up,him and me, and wer gostes.Weer goests. But wot we leeve behind on the rode is wotwed turn into, zomby thing, me and him. Ded as dedd. Onl stil alive this gostway, we twoo. Him and me. Nevr be parted now, I luv him so, and him me. Hesonly one evr lov me. His farther nevr dun. Just one time in the back of a stolecar. And by the time I kno whot happn, wurlds falln apart. But him here stillwith me always. He dont mind it. He say so, onli not in wurds. I call himAragorn. Dont kno what name com from, just remembr it like. I like that name. Ican spel it.
Look at him. Evn like thiz heslovli. Bles. Bless him. Im so glad Im not aloen.
Lot of the tyme he get carridinside me, corse. But nown then he com out and walks with me. But I hold theburthcaud – they tol me wot it waz at the hosptal – the Umbillycal Corde – justto gyde him like keep him close, in case. An he turn and laufs at me, and hemakes the caud twang like a stringg on a gutar. An we both lauf then. Donthurt, him or me. And inside, when I carry him that way hes not hevy or wearime. I lov him so. At night, tho we don slepe, he settles back in me and I holdhim in my belli with my arms, and ysee we can touch. I dont knoe how cos weergostes and we just pass thru stuff, tree and wals, but he and me can touch.Paps coz weer stil part of each over. Hes warm and he says I am, onli not inwerds. Aragorn. My Sun.
Theres a bildin heer. Big olplays and we stand at the dore as darknis cum. We culd pass strait in, but wedont.
Remind me of a stori my gran tolme wen I was little. She tolt me to scair me, shee was crule, like. But I nevr forget.Sum gurl go in a dor of a bigg hows, an thiz gyant com and ait her up.
So we don go in, nor nock.
We just wayte.
An starz cum on in the skie likediemonds.
The Recluse
Inthe Name of the Highest, it is not a dog on leash. It is – it is a child of herwomb unborne, and still enchained to her by the cord of birth! But it movesoutside her, and she, to keep it safe, holds to the cord with one hand. Thereis no wound nor schism. They are as one.
The child is an embryo of perhapsseven months maturing, yet one may make out its features; also that it is male.The cord itself is, too, uncommonly, monstrously long, and very flexible,silvery in colour, like woven smoke.
They do not enter my house. I, bythe upper casement, stare down on them. They are seated together on the narrowterrace. They seem to watch the stars of Heaven. It comes to me, in the silenceof the gathering night, that once I too was a child within the body of a woman.But she, bringing me forth with pain and exertion, had thereafter no liking forme, and punished me for it. And for the matter of that, therefore, had I noliking for her, or any.
The moon rises late, almost ather full, milk pale, and they, these two, look up, and she murmurs to thechild, and he lifts up his hand, smaller than the paw of a kitten, and he wavesto the moon in greeting. And then – ah God! – Turning about he waves to me.
Mother and Child
Anold man in a grene cote has com down and out the door and show us we can go in.And Aragorn duz, so I must.
The old man has funny hair, likein telly series – curli and stiff, wiv powda in it. Dont kno.
Like TV movi inside the hous anall, like the ol stuff they show for the lectricks go. But Aragorn is likepleesed. The ol man duznt do nothin bad. Only he stand by the wal and hes cryn,but his teers arnt wet. But he crys on and on, and the teers like diemonts orstars. But Aragorn drag me, and when he get cloze, he lifts up a bit in the airand his hand up to the ol mans cheek.
Thers no touch. Cant be, onli hean me can touch won another. But the old man looks at him, and then he
