the tree and the dust

chapter 6

get up and look at your child~

the incredibly old man groans through the sweat, blood and snot of his moustashe, stepping to where the girl, almost seductively barely dressed in her night cloths, lay collapsed turned away from the horror of this battle, slaughter and crash

the five or six velveteen robots step back in unison, as a black gloved hand reaches to grab her, and pull her to her feet, when the air explodes in fire~like screaming

get up, face the child, you gave up to the death~

it's dead, i can't look, i need a suit, can't breath. . .

the hand clutches her ruffled cloth and pulls, shredding, and twisting her to her feet to strip her bare,

face the child as it faces the elements and it's birth, naked, cold and so . . . few steps to death,

the incredibly old man in black and silver uniform pushes the girl toward the squirming, fungus covered newborn, asphyxiating in the sucking atmosphere

it's dead, it has the Volve~ are you happy I'm looking, you wanted me to watch a child die, I'll watch~

and her eyes well up with boiling tears, beneath the golden brown, pale blistering skin, watches a sick pink and green human child fight the touch of bacterial assault, the creche, covered in blood, shit and placenta, you poor little thing~ and she can feel her left tit lactate, a thin curdled line of moisture leaking down the curve of her breasts~

my child she mummers a monody~

remove this uniform!

she turns and sees two robots at each side of the old man, they pull down from his shoulders and strip off his black suit which makes hissing sucking, vacuum seal sounds of breaking, and the old, man, standing evaporating in the deathly air, in sweat drenched adrenaline's repose, naked, thin scarred, burned, flesh the color of moonlight, beautiful, starpoints tattooed across his chest

take the suit, put it on and save the child~ he orders and the suit takes a step back to stand with the robots, who close there eyes and whistle~

the child is infected~ there is no cure~ there's no ship, were trapped here~ where can we go~

oh, god. she whispers when she sees the long hand carved blade of deep dark oak, half a meter, tapered to paper thin edge,

only the blood of the chosen can save this child~ the suit and the robots will take you to safety, i thank you~ with all my heart,

the incredibly old man steps before the baby and raises the blade to hover over his heart, and the olive tinged name tattooed above the beat, Sarrow, a pause, a snow shadow passes across his eye, a trickle of sweat, rolls the creases of his check, the girl clutches her breasts, and watches the blade plunge into the flesh, through the bone and into the heart which explodes, dumping it's fountain of blood into the creche, baptizing the child

the girl yells and dives for his hands and is held back, crying, now she knows who this incredibly old man really is~

the robots step in, one grabs the baby and holds it under the hot stream of blood, another holds the old man up as his knees weaken, another holds the creche under the baby ~the blood and the snows washing away the bacterium fungus, until the baby turns, opens it's eyes, black~ and screams~ a robot, grabs it by the feet, pinches off the umbilical cord and holds it dripping a thick dark carpet of red as the old man holds his lips tight and holds the knife with two hands as velveteen robots drag him back and away, dying screaming~with the pain of all of his life's memories kicking in his thoughts, begging for one last attention

Another robot takes the baby from the filth~ presses it into the girls chest~ she clutches it and hugs it to her, she's crying and rocking back and forth, as the robots surround her like flowers, like buttercup armies, like dolls against god~

to watch the snow fall without process, thoughtless