A short story I wrote about the first few minutes of day 1.
I wake up to blood-stained thighs.
I turn to check my sheets - to see how long she’s been here.
The sheets are clean - except for the faint stain from a moon a few years ago. She seems content with her mild entrance.
As I walk to the bathroom I feel the cool stickiness of the blood against my skin and turn on the shower
I undress and see the gift she’s left me in my pajama pants. I praise myself for wearing my hand-me-down-already-stained-from-my-sisters-moon pajama pants instead of my new ones. I was expecting her this time.
Happy she didn’t claim yet another garment, knowing that inevitably she will.
The water runs down my body and I watch the blood drain out of me. A sharp pain interrupts, and I wrap my arm around my bloated womb. The swift movement lends my breast to wobble and I’m reminded that they’ve been tender the last few days.
The pain in my womb passes and I once again stare at the shower floor. The colors circle the drain and I continue to be utterly fascinated that this happens every single month.
I’m not sure if there’s a word I’ve found yet that can describe it. Wonderment, impressed, divine, all come close. Gratitude is what I’ll settle on for now.
For as much as she can be a literal pain in the ass, she’s me and I am her. She is literal life. She is why I’m here and why you’re here. Cruel that she’s called a curse.
She’s the creator.