In Autumn Everything Grows by Rhonda Eikamp

She gave birth to her mother in the autumn, when leaves flew onto the trees and her guttural cries fluttered unheard into the lengthening days. The pain was sharp and then soft. She closed her legs; her blood exploded back into her, quickening her limbs, a roiling rush of urgency, and she stood to find the severed red ends of the cord that had been wrapped around her own neck so she might bind them back together. Her mother was large, with wise wide-open eyes she knew she’d been waiting all her life to see. A sky to reign over her. She could give her life into the hands of this wisdom now, unlearn everything she knew of hardship. Her mother would protect her. She would be parented.

It made her weep, great caterwauling wails that shook her and threw her back onto the filthy mattress, and her mother reached down, stroked her hair and murmured, There.

She quieted and soon sleep opened her eyes. There was nothing left to do but grow.

© 2013 Rhonda Eikamp

Rhonda Eikamp grew up in Texas and lives in Germany. Her stories have appeared  or are forthcoming in venues such as Space and Time, The Urbanite, Daily Science Fiction, Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet, and the Fringeworks anthology Grimm and Grimmer: Black.

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