1979

Sharp panic like vipers rose in her chest, constricting her breathing. Her eyes searched the unfamiliar room for a familiar face, but they searched in vain: that face would not be seen by her again; she was aware of the rules. After the interrogations, they'd been mercilessly pounded into her: pound! Pound! Pound! Like the beat of a drum, or her newborns' hearts; beating strongly, proudly in this foreign place.

Tears scarpered down her face, leaking with ferocity from the corners of her eyes. She couldn't speak, though she wished to cry out. Would she ever see her babies again?

She struggled to grasp onto something, anything familiar, but she was left with nothing to draw up but a blue like the blue of his eyes, so different from her the blue of her twin babies' eyes. Whose eyes had they carried on? She did not know; she did not even know her name.

Here, in this place, she was called Blake. She did not know what that meant, she didn't even know if it was a typical name. Was it her name? Or was it a name that had been chosen for her by the others of this place? What was a name? Why did people have names? Who was a name usually bestowed upon one by? None of these things made sense anymore!

There was only the cry of her babies and the loneliness of not seeing his eyes. Of only seeing deeply wending sorrow, a feeling the name of which escaped her; like his name.

She did not reach for the babies; if she never reached for them, she told herself, then they would never know her, they would not miss her all the more for her foolish actions made out of selfishness.

She forced herself to close her eyes; they were so tired, but she was so, so afraid. Afraid for her babies; for herself, whom she did not even know. At this moment, she knew her babies better than she knew herself. Tears streaked down her face, leaking from underneath her closed eyes.

Pound, pound, pound, pound!

She felt their little heartbeats inside her being as though they were her own until they were taken from the room, until the closing of the door.

Then she was alone; she knew no-one here; she did not want to.

She knew she had to bury her sorrow deep down where no-one would ever find it again; it would be a keepsake to treasure: this feeling, she could say to herself, means that I was once a mother; this feeling means that once, I was not alone.

With the closing of the door, her strength left her. She would have fought for those babies, but she had no strength left with which to fight. Her eyes refused to be opened; she was alone in a darkness of her own making.


I was once not alone by planet p

Disclaimer I don't own the Pretender or any of its characters.