and I can hear the sirens, but I cannot walk away; abysm

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever The words cram and die in his mouth, because the inevitable answer: I’m pregnant, you’ll have another brother or sister will will beget more questions, like who’s the father? and how? and those are the ones Rapt most dreads answering because the answers are as rife with shame as he himself is. (A blustering heat, the shame of it, a different kind of heat than the one that overtook him in the moments that led to this child’s conception.) “I’m fine,” he says – he can alleviate that worry, at least. And even if he isn’t fine (how could he be?), well – he’s healthy. He’s not dying. “It’s just…” he trails off, the words failing again. He considers lying to him, but Rapt has never been a good liar, much less to his son, with whom he has spent more time than any other creature. More than his own parents, certainly, more than Abysm’s mother. “I’m with child,” he says, a rushed breath of confession, “and he or she will be coming soon.” He both anticipates and dreads the moment when labor will start – he has no idea who the child will resemble. What kind of thing he’ll bear. (Or, worse – what if someone goes wrong? His body is not meant for labor, what if the child dies within him, unable to be freed? He does not want to be a mausoleum to his own child.) It’s only now as he stares at his son in the aftermath of his confession that he realizes Abysm might be able to help him out of that particular bind. He’s his mother’s son, in that way. rapt caius x else