THE BABY MILL [[{SHINee}]]

THE BABY MILL [[4]] UTERUS

Like an old house creaking under the blows of the harsh wind was the resting man’s back. Every movement he made, no matter how miniscule, forced his back into spasms of pain that left his blunt fingernails clawing at the bed sheets. Usually he’d have still been asleep at this time of day (night?), but despite not even having gotten a wink of sleep in what he was sure to be days he couldn’t seem to come by slumber. Every time one of his eyes closed he would end up moving subconsciously and that would trigger the spasms again.

            Six plus times he’d found himself in this situation. Six plus times and not once had it ever gotten easier on his abused body.

            If only this baby would get the hell out of his body. It was all but wishful thinking, however, since it seemed to be quite cozy in its artificial home.

            It was no use cursing at the being side his body either. Breath hadn’t even been bestowed on the poor child. The boy carrying it kind of wished that it never would be graced with this gift so then its innocence wouldn’t be tainted by the evilness that hosted its creation and would continue to lurk in every fibre of its being.

            Sighing, the man blinked his eyes, unsurprised to find tears trickling out of the corners onto his face. He was tired, hungry, completely distressed and so much more that he wasn’t ready to admit. He would have given up a limb just to have someone accompany him in times like this. He desperately wanted someone to tend to him with love and compassion – a little TLC. There should have been someone there to wash the beads of sweat off his forehead; to feed him ice cubes when he asked for them…

            All that companionship that he dreamed of… He had it at one point. Somewhere back in the distant past there had been love. Love that had stretched past the child growing inside of him.

            He moved his hips to try and sink pleasantly into the mattress and just ended up crippling himself with the pain that shot at him. His stomach wobbled precariously, the baby choosing the worst moment to kick into his spine. A groan of pain parted his lips and more tears began to stain the pillow supporting his head. If things kept up this way he was sure his spine would break. Then he would fold in half and everything was going to get sucked in by this baby – this project – taking over his life.

            So strung up over the recent hit as he was, the young man didn’t see the door open. If he were to keep honest with himself the ragged, intense breaths he was taking were what he was keeping him from caring about his surroundings.

            Fingers pushed back his fringe from his face, leaving his damp forehead vulnerable to the fresh air. The other hand belonging to the man who’d entered rubbed over the boy’s fragile stomach. If he’d been capable of flinching he surely would have. Unfortunately, that demanded too much energy. But that one touch to his abdomen was like acid being poured on his skin and left there to eat away at his skin.

            The man didn’t even pay attention to the tears quickly soaking the suffering boy’s face. They were but insignificant drops that he was used to seeing at this point.

            “We got another one today, Onew,” the doctor whispered, a frightening smile curling the corners of his mouth. His cold eyes warmed slightly as he recalled that baby slipping out into his arms, covered in sticky fluids but looking so beautiful… Her cries had cut through the air with such beauty. So tiny. Perfect. Or almost. None of the babies ever came without kinks… A problem he had learned came from the cramped quarters of their carriers.

            Another one…? The boy wanted to sneer in disgust. There was nothing to celebrate about birth when it happened in this building.

            “I didn’t think this day would ever come, Onew,” the doctor continued to speak.

            Onew, the heavily pregnant boy being forced to listening to the crazy man’s giddy ramblings, turned his head to the side, repulsed by the mere sight of his face.

            The hands went back to touching him, this time losing the caring feel they held earlier and getting fervent and more professional. One pressed against his forehead checking for fever while the other kept firm on his swollen belly. Whimpers of pain threatened to crack out of Onew’s throat. Numbness was what he craved, not this.

            The Devil clutched at his body a while still, debating whether to pull him under into the darkness or leave him to burn in the hell fires he’d started beneath his bed.

            Deep breaths.

            He had to keep his chest moving up and down.

            His diaphragm had to constrict and relax.

            Oxygen had to keep flowing through his blood stream.

            A hard kick rammed up into the inside of Onew’s stomach, the force of it stopping the breath he’d been so concentrated on taking. He’d involuntarily flinched in surprise, causing his body to curl in on itself from the grandness of the pain. His body screamed insults at him so profane that he had a hard time closing his ears to it. The Devil’s symphony should be kept for the banquets he was holding behind the closed doors with all the forgotten children and boys.

It’d be so much easier if he could have that cloak of darkness cover him…

            Take it away.

            Leave.

            Go.

            When the claws released him (not without leaving some bloody marks for Onew to remember him by) he opened his eyes ready to greet the world again. Despite how big the world was it didn’t have enough power to overrun the doctor whose face was hovering so close that it looked like a planet. Orbiting around his every move… How funny…

            “Are you having contractions?” Dr. Park asked his voice gruff with anxiousness.

            It took a great deal of effort for Onew to shake his head no. He wheezed out a strangled breath, only now just starting to take the heaving gulps of air he desperately needed. Somehow a couple syllables managed to push out and he said, “I-it hurts…”

            A hybrid emotion wrangled up the doctor’s features, resembling something along the line of disappointment crossed with anger. That answer was the one thing that made him certain that this meeting would be drawing to an end shortly. But not before he double checked the bloated boy.

            “I’ll make sure your meal comes in soon,” he said while swiping his hands around.

            It burned… Ached and burned so bad… But what could Onew do?

            Images sizzled down into a puddle of molten black nothingness. Darkness masqueraded as peace and attempted to fool his mind into another round of disturbed slumber.

            Anything to make the pain cease…

            “Just think of how great this baby will be,” Dr. Park consoled. His breath tickled against Onew’s forehead as he connected lips to skin and then he was gone. Sucked into a vortex of cruelty where he would continue to make his rounds. While he slaved away in this bed; fighting a constant battle of sanity versus insanity.

            Would he perish in this room? Would dust be made of his body and be spilled out into the air for the other torture victim’s to breathe?

            The click of the door closing set off a trigger to something like a broken pipe. Depression flooded the boy until he was drowning in his feelings.

            He didn’t want to be here anymore…