Writing: Motherland of Exiles: Creatrix

by Beauchamp Art

Extract from Motherland of Exiles.
Chapter: Creatrix

In Fine Dierum


 

“My mother and I, Kali, we cast out together where I were but a boy, and she was ripe with my sister in her broadening belly.

“For why, certainty escapes me, and clarity eludes me even with those fragments I can recall, pieced from the patchwork of tales between my dear mother’s sobs, when she would lay me down before the open sky when what darkness could fall. With the endless glow of the distant city and the endless blazes that seem to emerge like wisps from the barren earth, throwing shadows only loosely about what little shelter we could find, in our nomadic pursuit aware from ever vigilant and then unknown horrors that would follow us through the haze of timeless days, night could never fully enshroud us.”

“She had born me, some few annum past, when she had longed to carry another child like me, free from what she saw as the cruel scrutiny of in vivo examinations, both invasive for her, and would malform her handicraft into some mass-made man. Though to bare sons and daughters of one’s own flesh was permitted in the place from where we had come, it was not considered necessary to persist on a human conception, with all its potential for flaws ever present in both the minds of those who should be their to support her, and in her own thoughts, weary of the chance to be taken with one who was never to be held up to glassy lens when still but an egg, but she had trust in her own body to guide the growth of those she would raise as kin. For her, all faults formed a face which would be held as like her own in part, but unlike all others before.”

“This want for an individual to carry on as she had done, as one child of two bodies which had met, and to forge a line that could be traced across generations, this was her undoing.”

“With me, though some questions were asked as to the nature of my mother’s peculiar fancies and shunning of the established normality of the in vitro process, she was not as yet subject to any over-zealous alienation. Her preference, as it was, was seen by her peers as, yes, unusual, but no, not cause for concern. But when it became apparent she was to have another by such means, with out so much as screening her and her partner prior, then such authorities as they were began to inquire further.”

“The man who was to be the father of this second child was not that of myself, for although she was eager to share with another this care that would call upon a son more bright and beautiful than all others, for in their singularity, none could compare, there were few men of similar mind. He who would have stood beside her with I between them, did not continue in his interest in the process, and departed from our barely formed family before it could have blossomed into the tremendous form my mother had seen that it could be.”

“So she searched, in vane for months, to find one who would wear the name ‘father’ with pride, until she came upon one who she had met but a few times, before he whom I would call sister would begin; her heart first a patter alongside my mother’s, then a second drum beating hard within her. Then once more, this man whose name I, nor his daughter, would ever be told, too left. And though it was he whose absence would hurt my mother so greatly, had departed from of our lives, as he who had before, through not blame that could befall my mother, other than her desire to let her progeny be parented but a caring pair, it was she who was blamed for this indiscretion.”

“To those who would decide our fate, my mother’s behaviour seemed to have begun to have crossed the barricades of acceptability, and so an enquiry was to be held, with her and her pregnant bulk at its core. Though that dark pantomime, it was put upon her an ultimatum, to give up her second son still within her, or to leave the security of the Metro State, turn away forever from the only civilisation she had ever known, and only one fit in which to be considered a human being, and join those feral vestibules of inhumanity out beyond the boundaries of comfort and control.”

“Their castrating Castra cuts off not just the seeds of procreation, but that of all creative acts. A citizen may manufacture, but no one can make, nor is expected comprehend the motive to do so. She had known this, deep in the marrow of her bones from her breath in this world, from the worried looks her own parents had been given when carried between them amongst the avenues of her youth, by those passers by ever judging the most primal creations as a sign of some subdued primitive impulse, which they had long suppressed and its presence in public only sought to remind them of their own weaknesses, their own mortal animal state, held above all other creatures by the illusions of his mastery of technology, his civilisation, his place beyond the reach of the barbarians.”

“She knew the folly of her plight, and the futility of flight from her home, from the civilisation she could never participated in without clenched jaw. For once she had glimpsed it, no ignorance could be found from the shape of her strange society, it would ever remain in her periphery, ever stalking her, ever she knew the ridiculousness of rules by the merest outline of their form. Those around her, her caged companions, could never see the shackles of their bondage, for within all their movements they felt not restrain by any force beyond themselves, and would never know the agony of straining against the binding cruelty of an unquestionable society.”

“So it seemed to her that to all others were oblivious to the structures around them. There was no sense of oppression, for they knew only the liberty of being a perfectly formed being, fitting within their confides so comfortable as to be unnoticeable. Why should they want for anything, when they had all that they could desire. Why should they question, when all the answers they should ever want were available to them. Why contemplate creation, when all the need had already been designed and manufactured so as to fulfil their exact purpose entirely.”

“But she, my mother, held within her that spark of creation, the torch passed down from Promethus’ fire, the will and the desire to create! Nevertheless, as her means and environment had made her still bound by her circumstance, still unknowing of so much, the only manner to create which had been given to her, that she could act upon, was to give life to me, my sister, and let us be defined against all other as her children, no fostered clones, or artificial insemination, but moulded by her, and their to continue in this marathon through the ages that is creation; I as father, to find another and begin once more, my sister as mother to children of embers, with her a man to stand alongside, to bare with her, or at the very least, to let an heir follow her. Yet now we know this seemingly simple longing would not be permitted, not as my mother had envisioned it.”

“Though the details of my mother’s tale have been passed onto me, and how we came to be here in the Wastes, it is the reason why that truly escapes me. So it is my longing now to understand, as it had been hers to raise me, that I shall strive, ever hardened by that which avails me. Yet never shall I be but a stone, thrown out from the high city walls of that false Eden in the name of civilisation, bearing the brunt of so many a storm, yet never stirring.”

“No, I shall face into the terrible winds that tear at my cheeks, turning me into this foul form seen before you, and I shall shout down that cacophony, and I shall be heard, even if as a whisper, so sharp shall the echoes of my intend be, so fiercely must I question why this is lot I have been given and told to bare, like so many others, for the benefit of so few, safe from this savage land in that colosseum of callous cold cruelty which houses their despotic society, so content to ground into dirt all those which would threaten the stability which maintains their pious and impassive authority.”

With downcast eyes, brought up once more to meet that of his most forlorn companion, the soldier with whom Kali had shared his tale eventually enquired, after a short eternity of silence had elapse after Kali’s soliloquy, “What became of her, and your sister?”

Kali did not return his solemnly curious gaze, but his face, ruddy with many years of quiet rage, but his featured relaxed slightly, his expression emptying from the flesh of his skull, vision turned to some indeterminable spot far off, yet implacably near.

Thus he spake, “Gone is she, mother of mine, this wasteful land claimed her long ago, not a fitting fate for one once so fair, so fit for care, so burdened by her heart’s hunger to have a family to gather about her, to give selflessly, and receive such a joy she knew was but the shortest stretch from her grasp.”

“My sister, too, never walked the world as a man, but only a child of desolation, and knew nothing of this world but the ruinous terror about us. For some time, we kept together, but like all close spirits grew ever distant from one another. Though we had shared a mother of our bodies, she could never truly be my kin, for she was raised a native of the Wastes, and I would also be a refugee, ever lost and without asylum. She was free here, I a prisoner of this decimation.”

Kali did not say all that he knew of his family’s fate to the listener, but for now, he was satisfied he had said enough.

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