It was raining the day I was born.
The sky had been overcast for days. It was expected, during the transition from Winter to Spring. The coldness of winter had already gone, but the chill in the air remained stubbornly behind, lasting weeks after the final day of winter had passed.
It left the nights cold and unfriendly, which was why there was no one on the streets. It always seems to get the coldest around 2 AM. The only people out were the ones too wasted on some thing or another to notice any weather. And they weren’t going to pay any attention to a little noise in an alleyway.
My mother, propped up against the back wall of a corner pawn shop. The blood from the knife wound high on her chest flowing away into the gutters by the rain. Her breathing was quick, pained, and it was the only sound you could hear over the rainfall. The two men in front of her stood motionless, just watching. Their faces were dark, unconcerned. They had been hired to kill the daughter of a policeman.
And they had to make sure she died.
Her hands reached out…to the wall, the street, the lights…she didn’t even know what she was reaching for. But she kept reaching, she needed help, and she knew what life she had left inside would be gone soon if she couldn’t find any.
But there is no help at 2 AM.
There is only cold, and rain.
Her eyes moved to the bag laying off to her side, on the left. Her darkening mind recognized it as the tool used to draw her here in the first place. But even now, she couldn’t find it within herself to hate the thing. In fact, she wanted it more now than ever.
Just a little bit, she didn’t need much. She was in pain, and pain never stayed when she was high. It was the only time she didn’t feel pain. Her hand fell limply towards the bag, but it had fallen almost 2 yards away. It took her a moment for her mind to accept that she couldn’t reach what she could see.
It’s right there, though. This must be a dream.
The sharp pain in her chest flared for a moment, bringing the second pain, the one lower. The shock from the knife wound created another problem. The baby wasn’t going to wait until it’s proper time. It was coming now.
Her body twitched in the falling rain, her hand laying on the dirt of the alley, stretched towards the bag. Her eyes stared at it, and the pain from the birth was almost foreign to her. Part of her consciousness recognized the sound of feet walking away from her.
She tried to see the men leaving, but her head wouldn’t move like it was supposed to. All she managed to do was tilt her head forward. Just enough to see the blood leaving her body in gushes.
She had a strange thought as she faded. She had never tasted blood before. I wonder what it tastes like?
But that question would never be answered for her. Death doesn’t care about your questions.
It was 2 AM. It was cold.
And it was raining the day I was born.
The day I was left to die alone in an unknown alley.
