deliverance {Mycelium Alone}

Molten wax settles in a circular shadow beneath the candle lit vigil. A freshly filled pot sits silently stewing atop the small stove of an even smaller kitchen. A figure traces the corners of a dust filled room, her shadow passing over an empty mug, an empty chair, an empty bed. Her fingers fold around one of the candles, sometimes the light is too bright for the broken. A brush of breath sends swirling smoke up from the scented stem. She leaves the room, her eyes angling away from the etchings on the door.

Red.

The now bubbling stew draws closer to its conclusion as Mycelium adds a simple splash of salt to its sea. Her ears wait for the sound of swinging steel on rusted hinges. Her eyes wait to see a shape so similar to her own step through the opening door. Her skin longs forever for the faintest falling of fingers against her arms in a sisterly embrace. But instead the brew finishes, and no one comes through the door.

She eats alone, her head framed by the illumination of her hair alight from the flickering fire of the fallen. Red's face fades in and out of swaying shadows, the focus of her sister's stare from an empty table. Eight months and still the salt of sorrow is Mycelium's singular dinner companion. Her sister died and yet she is the ghost of herself, lost with no identity. No longer a sister. No longer a twin. Soon to be a new mother. Entirely afraid.

Water as cold as the dying winter's snow fills the dirtied dishes. Red would be barking at her for even walking around so much with a belly as blossomed as her's. But now no one says anything to the pregnant woman behind the sink, there's no one left. A few of the others from work stayed with her awhile after, but when the seasons of shivering men in search of warming company came, they had no choice but to return to before. How she wishes she could have followed them, been wrapped in someone's arms with their hands on a smaller stomach. To be able to worry about what Red would say when got home in the morning.

But the before is dead.

It's buried in the backyard.

Discomfort makes home in every space of Mycelium's spine as she now sits awkwardly in a chair. Papers stand beside meager amounts of money, soon the savings Mycelium gained in preparation for her absence from work will wane into non-existence. Six months without work is a dangerously dealt hand in the District of Twelve. Mycelium fills several envelops for the morning before stashing the rest away for another time. She knows that there is no point in masking the panic slowly settling over her sunken face. Alas, the exhaustion of sharing her every atom with another life finally succumbs her to sleep.

"Don't! Don't look."

The arms of one twin tangles around the other's as a growing gate to hell forged by the flames of a factory fire fills the grey sky. People are screaming. Water is cascading from Peace Keeper cars. Children are dead, and others soon will be too. But Mycelium has her sister, sweat stained and smeared with soot, but she has her. It's almost as if all the surrounding suffering falls into silence.

"No more factories."

Both grips tighten.

"No more factories."

"Aaaaaauuuuhhhh!"

Pain pierces through the prism of sleep. In a second the entire sphere is shattered and Mycelium is born back into the present. Fingers fold into fine fists across the surface of skin between the world and Mycelium's son. The pain passes and Mycelium is left panting within a knot of sweat stained sheets. Her chests quivers, caving into an involuntary subtle sob. Why is her son always so persistent in kicking her in the middle of the night? For weeks now, sleep has become another piece of herself lost to the before. She was supposed to have her sassy sister here to make terrible jokes about the baby during times like this. Right now if she said anything, she would just look like a bitch.

"Ooooooooohhhh Fuck!"

The pain returns and the devil's plan reveals itself. Mycelium is entirely alone and her son is coming. Yet she can blame no one other than herself. She knew how close he was. She knew how short her time left was, but still she stayed inside and silent. And why? Because this baby was the last thing she ever shared with her sister. He's supposed to meet her. She's supposed to be here with her. And so, Mycelium's entire structure collapses. Her weeping becomes a sound more of animal than human.

By the break of noon the next day, silence rests over the leaning shack. Sweat holds together the monstrous mess of Mycelium's hair as her hands hold a blanketed bundle. The soft sounds of an infant are all that exist. Red is not present to press her head against her sister's, but there is a calmness over her remaining half. Mycelium simply stares in disbelief at the being against her breast. She can hear her sister's voice, and it's just as gentle as it used to be.

You'll never be alone.

Mycelium kisses the crest of her child's head. Her voice breaks the silence his arrival wrought.

"Hi..." her voice is weak from the night, but still she pushes through in a whisper,  "I'm going to name you after the boy your aunt, who loved you so much, cared a lot about." Mycelium's eyes drift towards the window and out to the small stone in the yard. "She would hate to name you exactly like him, so let's go with something a little different."

The shack's shadows seem to lighten.

"Let's go with Cedric. Cedric Stone."