Warm Waters

The waters had always been warm to her.

Originating from the Arctic, she knew this was wrong. Still, she performed. She would overheat, but at least she was fed.

She sang to the little one growing within her. 'Perhaps you're lucky,' she hummed, 'You won't know what lies beyond. Where we truly belong.'

Days passed, Mother continued to sing. 'My sweet little one, I can't wait to meet you.'

The night was wrong. The air should have been colder, the lights should have been gone. Mother paced the perimeter of her pool, her podmates keeping their distance but remaining ever vigilant. It was time. 'Come on out,' Mother sang, 'We're all waiting for you.'

She went up to breathe, shocked when fumes filled her lungs instead. She coughed and spluttered, panic rising in her. The night was wrong, terrible wrong. She rolled onto her side, a single eye popping up above the surface to scan her environment.

Roaring light, dark air.

Mother was confused, frightened. Her allies were, too. They nervously swam, spyhopping and tail slapping. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Bubbles began to rise from the water. One by one, the Narwhals began to thrash. 'It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,' they cried.

Their fins were first. They flapped and waved, trying to put out the invisible flames that engulfed them. As Mother fought, a tail emerged, its colors reflecting the glow from the stadium. Her blood was boiling, her heart was cooking as it pumped the hot fluids in and out. She could no longer see, but she could still here her podmates' screams.

One scream faded. One soul lost. His well-done carcass sank to the bottom, the remains of his skin still blistering.

Mother fought. She fought, not for her, but for her child, her baby, her sweet little one. Perhaps it was selfish, but she knew there was no hope. She wanted to see her delicate offspring, even if only a fleeting glimpse. It would be gone before her, she reasoned.

More cries faded. More bodies sank. The smell of death lingered above the tank.

A burst of blood. A birth among the dead. A little girl.

Instincts told her up, go up. Her flimsy flukes kicked, awkwardly propelling the baby towards the surface. A single click made her pause. She glanced to the side, her mother listing in the boiling water. Though her skin bubbled and peeled, her calf looked fine, save for the unusual red coat.

Mother's nerves were gone, most of her muscles too. She could not sing to her baby, she could not welcome her to their now burning world, she could not help her take that first crucial breath even if it would be her last.

Instincts told Christine up, up, up. Her scarlet eyes turned towards her target, and she left her mother's side. As with the others, Mother sank, her own flesh cooking as she fell to the bottom.

Breaking through the bubbling water, the newborn took a breath. It stung, she coughed. Breathe, her instincts reminded her, breathe.

She looked around, taking in her world. Her world of fire, of death, of isolation. The water was warm, like the embrace of her mother should have been.

She liked the waters warm.