Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1930538-A-Birthday-To-Remember
by Angus
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Experience · #1930538
I sent this to my daughter for her birthday because I was too cheap to buy a card...


         It is early in the morning of May 11th, 1984. A handsome young man retires to his bedroom. He has just sent his buddies home after a night of playing poker and drinking 'Lucky' brand beer, using the bottle caps as poker chips for the money he does not have. As soon as his head hits the pillow, a strange voice from the other side of the bed startles him. It is the voice of a young lady, and even though the room is dark, he knows it is the voice of a woman with red hair. He knew this night would come — he thought he would be prepared — but as much as he expects it, he also dreads it. The eerie voice summons him by name, and he knows what it wants. He is terrified.


         He pretends to be asleep, but he realizes his ruse will not go undiscovered.

         "Jim," the voice repeats. "It is time."

         He is frozen with fear. Time? No. It can't be time. Not now. Not at this hour of the night. He has to say something. The red head knows he is awake.

         "Are you sure?" he asks nervously.

         "Yes, Jim," the red voice repeats. "It is time."

         The next few hours of the handsome young man's life seem to be Lethean. His memory is shaded. He can vaguely recall going to a hospital with the red head, then leaving, and returning once again. He is in a strange room with bright lights with the voice, and there are other voices as well, some he recognizes, others he does not. There are people in odd vesture attending to the young woman with the red hair and the red voice.

         And then the red starts to become redder.

         And the room becomes louder.

         Howling cries of pain and inhuman screams of agony begin to echo off the walls of the strange room, pounding into his head and making him feel as if his brain might explode right out of his skull. He hears vile expletives being directed toward him, some he has never even heard before, all yelling and accusing him of being the cause of all this inevitable torment. He does not know how long he must endure this emotional and verbal persecution, nor how long the woman with the red hair can suffer her physical torture.

         And then it stops.

         The red screams and the red cries have ceased. The room is suddenly quiet save for the soft mews of a newborn child.

         It is the handsome young man's child.

         His daughter.

         His beautiful daughter.

         She will be named Cynthia LeAnne Jones, but to her father she will always be known as 'CJ'.

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