- I wrote this a year ago for Sci Fi class.

     “ Mama!” My heart drops as his first word reaches my ears. His arms are searching the air for his mother. His eyes, are full of love and innocent ignorance, for they are deceived, and will never know his mother.


     “ Mama!” He speaks again as if delighted by the sound of his voice. I catch my tears hastily as I continue cleaning, but still watching my son in the next room. But he is not mine, I remind myself, God has given him to Rachel. My mind almost screams back at me, No, he IS mine, for he grew inside of me. I try to keep my eyes focused on cleaning, but they lock on to the smile adorning my sons face. Those eyes, soft and brown, are mine. I slur to myself, “ Those eyes are mine.”


     He speaks again, as if pleading my attention. “ Yes my son.” I only whisper it to myself, as my words are mirrored by the fraud in the next room. She caresses him, “ Yes my son.” She raises him in the air as if she were boasting a prize, a victory, and thanks to the heavens. He bursts into laughter, piercing through me. It takes all of me, to restrain from cascading into the room, with hope his eyes may look upon me as they did when the earth was new.


     It was perfect. It was as if my God given purpose had never been and all I lived for was to love my child. I was to be a mother, not the means to create one. As his eyes opened and met with mine, we seemed to have an unknown understanding. He knew, I had known it. That moment of timelessness and stillness was shattered as cold hands
pried him away from me. He writhed and cried, his arms reaching for warmth as I called out, “ My son.” A hand interrupted my plead, as if I had committed some sort of sin. And there she was, holding my baby in glory, “ Do not mistake yourself to be a mother.
Heaven has granted me a son through your fruitful body. He will do great things. Now have your rest, tomorrow much work needs to be done.”


      “Rachel!” My memory is distorted as Jacob orders his wife into the next room, leaving the child alone. He seems fascinated by his hands, not aware of me approaching. Just one moment, I may hold him again. At first my hand touches his tiny fingers, then his eyes meet with mine. He looks questioning, as if trying to remember a face. I embrace him, as my tears kiss his cheeks. He struggles for only a moment, then melts into my chest. He muffles, “ Mama.” My heart bends, letting out a controlled sob. I kiss his forehead. The sound of footsteps orders me to return to my work. My arms refuse to let
go of my son, though my feet carry me back to the room.


     I turn around to find two ominous figures staring back at me. I offer up the child reluctantly, “ He was crying, he was left alone and I,” Rachel tears the child from my hands, then seemingly ignoring my words she orders, “ Jacob has asked for me to have another son for him. Tonight you will sleep with him and heaven will grant me another
son through your body.” It is not a request, it is not even a question.


     It is night. I enter the dark room, not feeling but knowing of his presence. I undress as if in routine, and offer my body, as I will offer my next child.
             

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