𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐇// 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐗𝐎𝐂

─── act iiiミ★ 𝐱𝐥𝐢. ✭ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄

JULY 31, 1968; THOMAS
5:34 a.m.

"Alright, Mr. Stargrove," The nurse beamed, placing a soft blanketed creature into my arms. "Here is your baby girl."

Eight pounds of the freshly made child fell into my hold. I wrestled my arms around awkwardly to cradle the thing, rocking it gently like how I had practiced with the loaf of bread I had at home.

Misty has already delivered the second birth, something I wasn't aware of until a bloody placenta suddenly popped out of the woman. She had been taken out from her labor, panting on the hospital bed she laid on.

When the nurse had offered the baby up to her, she pushed it away and shriveled herself into the fetal position.

What had we created, a freak of nature? Is that why my wife was so quick to deny the thing that had taken solace inside of her for ten months? Was it monstrous? Was it born with a full set of sharpened teeth or did it have extra arms, shoulders, knees, and toes? What could it be? What had we created?

Taking a seat in a nearby armchair, I nestled the child against the crook of my shoulder. Curiosity sunk its teeth into me and suddenly I was peeling back the pastel pink blankie, revealing the face of my daughter.

"Holy shit." I cursed, my heart palpating when I first laid eyes on her. She was flushed a light rose color and raw all over. The tiny slits where her eyes were supposed to be were squeezed shut. A scraggly patch of blonde hair was rooted to her head in thin strands.

I did that.
I helped make this thing.
Me...

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Asked Misty, an exhausted expression pressed into her face. She had scooted herself to the edge of the bed closet to us, still on her back.

"Perfect...so so perfect..." My voice was hardly over a whisper. I didn't want to disturb the warm little thing in my arms. She suddenly felt so light and fragile. A delicate little thing in a spitfire world. I shivered at the thoughts that popped into my head. None of them were pleasant.

Razor blades.
Chainsaws.
Child takers.
Murder.
Teenage boys.

She needed a name. Something she could hold onto, that could be hers and only hers when she needed to survive.

"I was thinking maybe Sunshine or Golden Shadow." Suggested Misty, running her fingers across the borders of the hospital bed. Her dirty blonde hair was stuck to her neck from sweat. She was the vision of beauty, but also incredibly ridiculous.

"No, no, those aren't baby names," I argued, holding the little baby tighter. "Kids'll make fun of her...trip her and push her if we name her those things. How about Sherry? Y'know like Sherryyy, Sherry baby."

Misty's eyes were dull, unimpressed with my singing and name choice.

"I don't really care for Frankie Valli." She propped her head up using her elbow, tapping her fingers across her chin. Freckles mottled her skin, spread in patches all over her face. I hoped my daughter would have freckles like hers and maybe eyes like mine. That's what I wished for. "How about Janine!" My wife's face sparkled. "Like that new Bowie song."

"Not a Bowie fan." I shook my head in disdain, twisting my lips together as I thought of another song. "Peggy Sue?"

"My mother played too much Buddy Holly growing up, Tommy." Misty groaned, burying her face in the crevice of her elbow. "Ruby Tuesday?" Her head bobbed back up as she gave her name.