Quote:
Originally Posted by thatmariolover
*Cough Part Two Here*
Sorry, something in my throat...
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This one is for you.
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2
“Listen… you have got to listen before you make any judgments on me!” This was the 7th doctor she had seen in so many months. Most of them had dismissed it as a simple case of postpartum depression, but she knew there was more to it. There had to be more to it.
It had been no coincidence that she started hearing this voice in her head the day her son was born. It had given her commands that had help please the baby, but the voice… it never went away.
The first doctor had suggested it was a minor case of postpartum depression that her psyche was manifesting itself into a child’s voice in order to soothe her own anxieties. He had prescribed some pills to alleviate the stress, but it did not help. If anything the voice became more pronounced, and more disturbing.
It haunted her even in her sleeping hours.
This procedure went on and on for seven months as each new doctor prescribed her something different, but none of it made the voice go away.
This was her final attempt… her lucky number seven she hoped.
After she finished explaining her story to the doctor, he put down his notepad and stared squarely at her, “Miss…”
Before he could get any further, she went on the defensive. She knew the tone he took all too well. He would say it was a simple case of postpartum depression and he would prescribe her some medication that could clear it all up.
She wondered if there was a stigma attached to her because she did not nor did she care to find out who the father was. It was not that she had been with many guys, but she had been with a ton of losers, and really felt it would be better if the son grew up without a deadbeat in his life.
Now she was beginning to second guess herself, did she really have some deep seeded hatred towards this child? No, it was not possible. She loved and cared for him as much as any parent would… especially under these circumstances.
She left the doctor’s office without taking up her prescription as much as she loved her son, she had to deal with her own sanity.
She wiped a single tear from her eye as she drove with the baby seat in the back of the car.
--_--_--_-
The setting at the beach was hard to make out from a distance. The party scene was covered in a thick haze of smoke.
The only distinct sound one could make out was the sound of music. If you listened closely, one might even be able to note the different instruments that were on hand. Some guitars were being jammed on. Bongos were being banged. Even a harmonica could be heard emitting from the group.
It was indeed a festive scene if you were down on the shore with the party goers.
As she grew closer to the mass of people, she wondered if she was making the right call. She could see naked bodies entangled on towels. Sometimes, she swore she saw more than two sets of feet dangling from the mass of bodies.
There were those who were shoving needles up their arms. She would most likely not leave her child with them… she might as well have dropped him off at one of his potential father’s house.
Then at the far end of the beach, she saw what appeared to be a rather normal group given the conditions. They were fully clothed and appeared to only be jamming to the music.
She made her way over to the crowd without drawing any attention to herself. When she was close enough, she laid the basket with her son near enough for them to locate him, but far enough so that he would not be discovered before she was gone.
She kissed him on the forehead gently, “Farewell my sweet prince.”
As she turned to run, she heard the voice again, “Mommy don’t leave me!” She broke into a run as tears began to build in her eyes. She had to distance herself as fast as her legs could carry her.
--_--_--_
The group of six friends rocked into the wee hours of the night. It was only when they decided to call it a night that they realized they had a 7th instrument amongst them. This one continued the song way past their final performance.
They searched for the origins of the sound until they located the lone baby left alone in his basket.
“Please take care of my child, he is all I have in the world, but I need to preserve my own sanity if I am ever to take care of him.”
That was it… there was no name nor address or any form of contact information. The 6 combed the basket in hopes of finding something that would help them.
The only hint they got was the initials stitched into his shirt, “T.M.L”
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This came out a bit differently than imagined, but be happy that I got time to write it.