And god spat me out.

At least, that is what my mother so lovingly referred to whenever she spoke of the day I was born, which was shockingly often.
Whenever she got too far into her third bottle of that cheap red wine I bought only to cook with, she would let out a long and pained sigh, balance my old and worn plastic dark knight cup on its edge with one finger and look at me.
Her eyes would show a hint of confusion, as if surprised to see me sitting across the table. Then she would stretch her lips into a pained snarl, draw in a sharp breath and groan under the imagined weight of the torture she was about to recount for the third time this week.
As I mentally go over the steps of her routine just before they unfold in front of me, I stare past her at the image of my daily motivational calendar.

"It's Tuesday! Tu Es Day!"
Do it day...
Great.

"You know, I spent fourty seven hours in labor with you. Did you know that?"

My gaze lowers, trailing down the stained kitchen wall until it lands on the dark wooden block.
It's heavy.

"A giant baby, unwilling to get out of my damn cooch, you were."

She spread her legs - thank god she wore pants today - almost slipping off the chair with her dramatic and over-exaggerated movement.

Heavy, but not heavy enough.
What about...
There it is.
Black handles, all glossy, except for one.
A long scratch winds around it like a wire around a neck.

Do it...

"I told the doctor to cut you out, that you were clawing at my insides like a demon."

A loud cackle breaks out of her chest, leading into a wheezing cough before she goes quiet with another sigh.
Her eyes linger on me, I can feel them, but I don't look.
Mentally, I count the steps it would take to reach the wall behind her.
One, two... yes, two big steps.
Out of the corner of my eyes I saw her hand moving and my muscles tensed.
Fingers, thin and bony like talons, nails chipped from the desperate clawing at tin caps and cellophane wrapping.

I don't flinch as the warmth reaches my skin, eyes locked on the dark wood block and the matte black handle.
The feeling of the scratch against my skin as I grip and...

"But you are no demon..."

I only hear the crack in her voice while her knuckles gently glide down my cheek.

"You looked like God spat you out when I held you, but I told myself. Even if God doesn't want you, I will always keep you."

It burns.
Somewhere inside my body there is a burning sensation, but I am not sure where.
Feelings get hard to locate sometimes, physically... mentally.
I decide not to go searching.

"I am so sorry - "

My head snaps to the side, looking directly at her.
For a split second, I regret my decision when I see her flinch.

"You should go to sleep."

Her eyes, big and wet with tears she did not deserve go wide and again I see the confusion.
Like a loyal dog met with the sudden and unfamiliar crack of a whip.
And while the description of a female dog might scratch an itch in my brain, I feel that is where the similarities ultimately end.

I watch her open her mouth, once, twice, like a fish out of water.
Then she nods.
She wipes her eyes and chuckles.

"This wine, man. Always gets me all mushy. Are you sure the couch is okay? I promise it's only for a few more days."

I stand with her and nod, looking down at her.
In my memories she was always so tall, strong. But now she is short, frail and walking on wobbly legs as I accompany her to my bedroom.
I try not to touch her, because whenever I feel her tiny bones through that paper thin skin, I catch myself imagining the sound and feel of snapping her arm, then and there.
Still, I let her give me a brief hug and a kiss on my cheek before she closes the door, bidding me a good night through the scratched up wood.

I turn around, walk down the hallway, close the door, readied myself and almost like clockwork, my body began to convulse, forcing me to bend over the toilet, letting dinner run through my head again, this time in reverse.

"So how was dinner?"

I stand outside, picking at the grass and staring at the stars, while I let the sound on the other end of the call drift over me.
Despite the cold air, it feels me with something like warmth.
It is so good to hear something else for a change.

"She started talking about my birth again."

A chuckle.

"And? Did you do it?"

In my mind, I see the dark block again, feel the crunch of her bones.

"Did you kill her?"

"Don't say that" I respond immediately, sitting up, fist full of grass.

"Come on. We both know that it wouldn't be a loss to the world, least to you."

"She is my mother..."

The voice turns to a whisper, quiet in tone but much louder in volume.

"Exactly. Your mother. Don't you remember the ocean? The waves?"

In an instant, I hear the sound of waves, feel the breeze and the way my breath becomes fuller, easier, the warmth and the... the rocking of the waves.

"Stop!" I quickly mumble, opening my fist and dropping the grass only to clasp it over my mouth.

I feel sick, but there is nothing left in my body to throw up except bile at this point.
The silence that ensues on the other end is long, while all I hear is my own heart racing and my lungs in- and deflating rapidly.

When it speaks, the warmth returns to the voice on the other end.

"I am sorry. It is your decision of course. Sleep on it. I am here. Always."

Sleep sounds nice.
But my sleep is rarely ever refreshing.
Sometimes it comes to me quickly when I drop onto the couch, but it is light, merely drifting in and out of a waking state, barely deep enough to pass the time.
Still better than the nights where I dream.
Dreaming feels violent to me, like stepping into a world I was not meant to see, be it memories, visions of a dreaded future or completely random places I have never been to.
No matter the scenario, it always starts on the beach, staring out into the distance, watching the waves roll in from a far.
They never reach the beach.
I am **** here.
Sometimes I look down, expecting to see the waves roll and glide across the shore, but the water is still.
Perfectly still and unmoving.
Only in the distance I can see the motion of what lies beneath.
The surface begins to curve as shapes take form, not quite breaching the surface.
Long... spindly... talons.

I turn around, away from what lies beneath and the scenery has changed.

If it is a good dream, I am sat on a tree, alone in a forest.
Nothing but nature all around me.
I am cold, shivering, but the adrenaline is pumping through my veins.
I am finally ****, and I remain here, watching the trees until the waves inevitably break through, ripping me from my place and I drown.

Bad dreams are often in public spaces, filled with people.
But the people aren't 'right'.
At first glance they seem perfectly normal, just going about their day, but as soon as I offer them more than a passing glance, I notice their misshapen nature.
Faces, melting, Eyes swelling out of their sockets, skin and fat rippling unnaturally until it melts from bones in disgustingly slow motion.
The dreams, without fail always end with one of these creations of an unyielding god noticing me, realizing I am out of place and wordlessly pointing their writhing and contorting fingers at me, their faces stretched into a silent scream.
I almost welcome the waves as they breach the buildings, washing away all of us into oblivion.

But the really bad dream...
It starts with the sounds of summer and blinds half drawn.
Steps of warm light, sharp enough to cut, I long to climb.

The sudden feeling of something touching my face rips me from my thankfully dreamless sleep.
It takes a pained yelp for me to realize that I had grabbed my mother's wrist, but my thoughts immediately go to her thin bones again and I let go.

I apologize quickly, sitting up, pulling the blanket up to my shoulders as I do so.

"What?"

She smiled down at me, gently rubbing wrist where the skin has turned red.
It would surely turn purple by the time I had to prepare lunch...
At least it would match her elbows and hands nicely.

"Sorry, the landlord called... and we are out of coffee, so I thought we could go down into town and -"

I cut her off immediately, calm but determined.

"I'll go. You stay here."

There is hesitation when she speaks, as if she is afraid to advocate for herself... She has never been afraid of anything, least of all that.

"But I want to help. We could also eat lunch by the shore. You know, like old times?"

I don't respond, instead I pull aside the blanket and get up, almost bumping into my mother but she stepped back just in time to avoid another bruise.
Ignoring her unhappy shuffling from one foot to the next and adjusting the silk scarf around her head, I walk over to where my suitcase lays.
Although my back is to her, I cover the combination lock with one hand while dialing in the code with the other.
When I notice her going into the bedroom, I stop.
I ask what she is doing.

"Giving you some privacy?" she chuckles, her eyebrows furrowed "Unless you plan on going in your underwear?"

Bitch.
The word forms on my lips, but I manage to stop myself from making a sound.
There is this burning sensation again, this time clearly forming in the pit of my stomach, quickly swelling and expanding into my chest.
My body automatically moves to stand upright, giving more space to the feeling, my eyes for once glued to hers.
I am reminded of the silent screams of the creatures in my dream as I stare at her.
Her smile fades slowly and I watch her shrink.
She moves slightly, hunching over as reeling from a gut punch while suspended in aspic.
I can see her looking at me sideways, making herself small like prey before a predator.
And god... for a moment it feels good.

"Write down what you want. I'll get it" I say, finally breaking the oppressive silence before reaching into the now open suitcase and grabbing a set of clothes.

"And stay here."

The landlord, or simply owner of the little cabin I was renting for my mother and I had a quite cozy office nestled between a convenience store and the town's funeral home on a street directly facing the seaside.
And while the air was oppressive and dusty up in the cabin, here I could breathe freely.
I listened to the sound of the ocean, the seagulls and a few children running around the beach despite the frosty temperatures.
Yet despite the draw of the natural beauty of the ocean, my eyes were trained on the buildings.
The buildings were old but inviting.
All kinds of different pastels were used to paint each building individually and still they managed to form a harmonizing sight with their sculpted wooden doorframes and lattices.

I hear the bell ring when I enter the office and quite instantly, a head appears in the open doorway to the backroom.
There is no one here but the landlord, a wilting plant in the corner and me.
For about twenty years I had dealt with an old, round bespectacled man behind the office desk in this place.
For about twenty years I had left the office with his one homemade candies, wrapped in his signature blue and pink paper.
There was still an old candy jar filled with them displayed on the desk... mostly for sentimental reasons, I guess.
But this year I see a much, much younger version of that man stepping into the room, giving me the same bright smile.

"You are up in the cabin, right? Motome?"

I nod, mirroring the smile, even if not as wide and bright.
It seems convincing enough, because I see an odd twinkle in his eyes.
One I tend to notice when people enjoy what they see.
I feel a twitch in my face.

"My mo- I was told that you asked to see me. Is there an issue?"

The young man shrugs and reaches for a stack of papers on the desk.

"You are in big trouble, yeah!"

The way he spoke confuses me.
He said something troubling, but he kept smiling, even giving me... a wink, I think?
Am I in trouble or not?
My confusion must have been visible, because his demeanor suddenly shifts into something much more soothing and apologetic.

"No, no! I am just kidding! It's nothing serious" he explains, sliding the papers towards me.

"There are some pieces of information that are missing. I know my grandpa has become quite forgetful in his old age, and since you are a regular, I think he just never checked. But I just... you know, want to clean up the business a bit. Do it right."

I glance down at the paper where a few lines are circled in red ink.
Phone Number.
Number of residents.
Address of residents.

He hands me a pen, but it just hangs between us as I look up at him.

"It's all there."

"Excuse me?" he asks, still smiling.

"My name, address. It's there."

"But your phone- "

"I don't have a phone."

Finally the smile breaks and I see him regarding me with genuine confusion.

"No phone? At your age?"

I simply nod and shrug, just like he had before.
It takes a second for him to fully believe it, but it is not like I am lying.

"Well... okay, but how about the other resident. I talked to a woman when I called the cabin's landline."

For a moment I try to come up with a clever response, but I am a horrible liar.
Lying just makes me sick...

"She is my mother. But she won't be staying long."

"Does your mother have a phone? Or an address?"

"She won't be staying long" I insist, trying out that smile again. He liked it before, right?

This time, however, the effect is lost, and the young man just looks confused.
What a frustrating fucking thing this is... conversing.

"Still, she - "

"Look" I begin, forcing my eyes to focus on his, finally drawing his attention again.

"She is dying. Cancer. My family and I... we have come here for decades. I alone have been renting out the cabin for the past ten years. I am sure her information is somewhere in the older files. I just want to give her a few nice days before..."

I look down, bite my lip and wrap my arms around myself.
Even my lips manage a tremble.
There's an urge to look at his reaction, but instead I turn my head to the side, instantly landing on the jar of candies.

"Hey" A hand is placed on my shoulder and I feel the warmth and weight through my hoodie.

"Sorry about that. We can do the paperwork afterwards. Just promise me to call me if anything happens. Ambulances don't really get up there all that quick."

I take a deep breath, as if to suppress a sob, then I look back up at him.

"You know, my grandpa told me about you" he says, his hand gently squeezing my shoulder.

"Told me he watched you grow up right here on the beach. One summer at a time. How sad he was to realize you were no longer a child. I wish I could offer you the house on the beach... but we don't rent it out since the incident."

Suddenly, I hear the voice again.
'Please...'

And before I can stop myself, my lips stretch into a smile, but I quickly wipe my face and step back.
The hand lifts off my shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah" I respond, forcing an embarrassed laugh. Because people are embarrassed to cry, right?

My gaze lands on the jar again and this time, it lingers.

"Can I have some of them?"

The young man follows my eyes and looks at the jar.

"Uh... sure? I guess you were one of the lucky kids he showered with candies."

There is much I want to say to that, but all that I manage is:

"You don't hand them out to kids, right?"

As he walks over to open the jar, he grabs a paper envelope and laughs.

"Oh no. They are definitely expired. I just keep them here to honor him."

Honor... Right.

When I leave the office, my mind still stuck on the candies, I forget for just a moment, where I am.
What I am looking at.
The sight registers just as the sounds of the waves and the salt on the breeze hits me.
Past the road and sidewalk, beyond the strip of dark sand, lies the ocean.
To the right, on a deck that stretches into the deep blue, a yellow house...
A yellow house.
The sounds of summer and blinds half drawn.
A stair of warm light with steps so sharp, I long to climb.
And the taste of sweet candy on my lips.

"He sounds nice!"

The cold air nips at my nose, but I enjoy the clarity it brings.
It shakes my body to be here and not... there.

"He did" I admit, ignoring the chuckle on the other end.

"Do you think he is different?"

"From what?"

"His grandfather, dummy."

How do I respond to that?
How would I know?
Of course I have hope, but hope is as fickle and delicate as a spider's web.
It only holds your own weight, it is easily torn by others.
Shredded and discarded without thought... when it feels impure.

"So are you going to do it?"

Between my fingers, a piece of blue and pink, twirling slowly as I hold it up against the starry sky.

"Are you going to take it back?"

I say nothing.
But I don't have to.
It already knows.

Dragging a dead body is much harder than a live one.
So far, all the bodies I have had to move, carry, drag or dump anywhere had been dreadfully heavy.
But my mother's body weighs nothing at all.
The illness had already done the vulture's job and eaten most of her body while the blood was still pumping.
And it still was, for now.

Still, I felt that even if she had been dead as I carried her to and from the car and into the house on the beach, it would have been nothing.
I almost dropped her on the wooden floor, just to hear the sound of her bones breaking, but instead I had placed her on the mattress in the master bedroom with absolute care.
Despite my anxiety over the past few days... weeks, I felt calm.
Tying my ailing mother to the bed with handcuffs around her wrists, ankles and her neck.
The collar even fit her, now with all the weight she had lost.
I almost feel happy to have kept it.

Finally, she wakes, and I imagine what she sees.
Herself, naked on the bed, arms, legs spread wide.
Completely vulnerable.
Then, leaning against the wall, me.
I am taller than my mother now, I still have my dirty blonde hair.
The same dark blue eyes.
In my hands, a knife with the matte black handle and a scratch like a fine white wire around someone's neck.

"Baby... what..."

I let her voice trail off, waiting for some sort of realization.
Surely she must know why she is here.
Why this is happening.
Even she should hear the waves outside.
But when I look at her, all I see is confusion.
Was it the meds that have dissolved her brain or was it just her own mind?
Shielding her?

"What are you doing?" she finally ended her muttering.

There is just so much I want to say, so I am grateful that she is helping me begin.
A starting point for our end.
But to make her truly understand, I have to start way beyond that point of beginning and ending.

"You do know that we all came from the ocean, right?"

Her eyes widen even more.
At this point, she must think I have simply gone insane.

"The ocean gives birth to life. It always has, and it still does. Entire universes are birthed by it and no one actually realizes it. But the ocean is not just this body of water. It is the essence of creation. And we carry that with us."

"Baby, please untie me! We can figure this out!"

Her voice is pleading and she is smiling. Like an animal hoping to appease the hunter.
Docile.

"We can get you help!"

But the words fall on deaf ears.

"We carry that essence with us to give birth ourselves. Mother to child" I begin to pace at the end of the bed.

"And that essence should stay with the child, right? It is the basis of becoming a full person. With thoughts, feelings, hopes and desires? Now normally, a mother passes on that essence and..."

I think.
Then, I spread my arms in a slow motion.

"Release it. We let it go to live on in the child. It will grow into its own and then, pass it on to their children when it is ready. That is the never-ending process of procreation!"

Slowly, I point the knife down, tracing my own abdomen with the point.

"But here's what I found out."

The knife snaps upwards, right at my mother's face.

"This essence is tied to the mother long past the point of severing the umbilical cord. Way past.
And you, mother, you took my essence back."

I let the words pass in silence, waiting for a reaction, but all I get is a look of utter fear and confusion.
So I reach into the pockets of my jacket and throw something at her.
The little candy delights pellet her face with a satisfying WHACK! and I watch her crane her neck to see what it was.

"Look up!"

First, her eyes land on me, then she complies and even in the dark, I can see her face go even paler.

Suspended from the ceiling, fifteen polished skulls stare back at her.

"One for every year" I explain "I know there were more. I tried to find all of them, but unfortunately, I only managed to get enough for this."

"Ba-"

Before she can finish the word, her eyes sill glued to the skulls, I rush over to the bed, lean over her and drive the knife into the mattress right next to her right ear.

"I wasn't finished."

She is now visibly shaking, tears running down the sides of her face.
Still holding her gaze, I pick up a piece of candy and dangle it above her eyes.

"You remember these? Imagine my surprise when I learned that normal children get candy as a reward. When they were good. Not punishment?"

I don't even bother unwrapping it before prying open her mouth and shoving the candy inside.

"Then again, normal children don't need this, right? You told me that these are for bad kids, to help them be good, calm... loose."

When she shakes her head, I slap her. Hard.
Maybe she was still weak from the drugs I had given her with her dinner, but even I flinched when I saw her eyes roll back.
But she was back here in a matter of seconds.

"This... I don't want to torture you. I just want to take back what you took from me."

"I didn't..." she whispered, the collar jingled as sobs began to shake her body.

A combination of sounds that was familiar to us both.

"I need it back. For him."

I move my hand to my abdomen, gently drawing circles on it.

"He will grow up to be a real person. With emotions, dreams and a whole life to live."

Although I don't really feel the warmth, the joy, I realize that I am smiling at the thought.
It feels... comfortable.
Just like the knife in my hands that I now raise above her throat.

"So please don't fight. It's no use."

For once, I seek her eyes, smiling as I hold her head to force her to look at me too.

"I'd know."

Under my hand, I feel her chin jerk, but I keep her steady as the knife comes down and I slit her throat.
I drive the blade deep enough to sever the vocal chords, and watch her eyes as her face goes through all sorts of emotions.
It is like a firework that I have seen a few times now, so much life just before the end, while I pull back the knife and climb onto the bed, freeing her face now.
There's no scream, just the gurgling desperation of a dying woman.
I straddle her body and now the hard part begins.
Stabbing the knife into her still moving body, making sure not to cut too deep or far as I drag and saw at her torso until I reach what I am looking for.
It feels... not wrong, but there is a distinct lack of satisfaction that I had felt when I tortured and killed the other fifteen who are now watching me from above.
She deserves this, right?

"Of course she does."

I hear the voice on the other end again and nod.

"She did this to you. Took all that from you. That potential, a life!"

As my fingers begin to pry open the flaps of skin, I nod.
Over and over again.
I am not doing this for myself... but for him.
For this one thing that I ever felt something for.
The warmth of her body is almost comforting, soft and slick when I traced my finger along her intestines to look for the real treasure.
Eventually, I find my way through her anatomy in the dark and clasp my hands around what I estimated to be the uterus.
A spark of elation in my chest!
My fingers carefully cup the organ, feeling it up and down like a child trying to feel the insides of their present.
But at first, there is nothing.
It is soft and warm, but it shouldn't be.
There should be...
A soft gasp and rattling sound distract me as I watch the eyes of my mother flutter and her chest deflating for the last time.
It almost felt rude to be interrupted like that, but what use would voicing that thought do?
But then, with her last breath taken, my fingers suddenly meet something hard.
I feel a rush of heat in my face and look down, but in the dark there is little to distinguish this organ from anything else.
I squeeze it carefully.
Then again.
And after the third time, I am sure that there is something smooth, round and hard inside.
The knife cuts through the tissue with ease and mere moments later, I am sat on the bed, covered in the remains of my mother, staring at this marvel in my hands.
It is slightly bigger than a marble but once I polished it with the clean back of by hoodie, it shines with dim speckled lights all over.
Inside, I can see spirals emerging and disappearing so fast that I am not sure if I am really seeing them.

"Are you ready?"

I hesitate.

"You know what to do. If you want your life back, that is."

I didn't even realize that my hand had moved to my abdomen again, when I felt warmth underneath my palm.
It resonates with the warmth of the marble.
Then, after taking a deep breath, I close my eyes.

I expect to feel the marble against my lips, but I don't.
There is suddenly nothing.
No signal to the rest of my body and I can't will my eyes open...
For an eternity, I am lost in this nothingness, until... the cry of birds.

Children, laughing outside.
Slowly I manage to open my eyes.
The sounds of summer.
Blinds half drawn.
The taste of candy on my lips.

I stare at the rays of sunlight breaking through the gaps in the blinds, sharp like finely crafted steps of stairs.
It would hurt to stumble on edges so sharp, I think, for some reason.
And I long to climb them anyway.
To the outside, to where the light is.
My eyes move to the right, but a voice stops me.

'Don't.'

'Don't look. Focus on the light. The birds outside.'

I do.
As the stench of alcohol approaches, I do.
When I feel the weight on my small body, the bed creaking in ways it never should, I stare at the light.
Those steps I can't climb.
Again, the voice tells me to keep looking.
I do.
There is pain, a feeling of wrong.
Warmth that feels alien and foreign and completely out of my control.
Suffocating.
Hands I held, that held me, now forcing me out of my body by taking something that was never theirs.
But I stare at the light.
And I am at sea.
It's the waves that are rocking me gently, just the waves.
The salt of the ocean burns my eyes and makes me queasy as it enters my mouth.
It's the Mediterranean wind that heats my cheeks.
My eyes close.
I am at sea.

And the sea awaits me with open arms.
I feel the warm smooth surface press against my lips as I beg the ocean to return my soul to me, to continue the never ending path of life.
To give me back what was taken over and over again.
All is dark, but there is a rush of something, a force, greater than anyone could comprehend that fully envelopes me as I try to keep that feeling of the marble present in my mind.
Flashes of colors dance behind my eyelids and I hear the roar of pure and utter rage drowns out my own thoughts as this ocean, this being of primal force challenges my entire being.
There are no other words I can use to describe it.
Maybe there are, but I could not recount them.
Because when I finally felt the sphere on my tongue, this life ended.
The life I had dragged this pile of flesh, skin and pain through.
A soulless husk with no purpose.
It was over.
And a promise made long ago, when a young child met the ocean is kept.
His path will continue.
I want him to feel what I never could.

****
The word echoes in this void, yet my entire being seems to reject it.
Over and over, until it is finally clear.

Safe.

He will be safe...

And once the essence is passed on to him, my path will end.
No longer will I take part in the cycle of life.
The sea will swallow all of me.

For I have swallowed the sea.