by J. Ryan Rosser
Push. He was alone, save for the muted voices echoing around the cavern; the screams and repetition. Push. He wanted to pull. Push. He was being pulled. Every issuance brought him closer to the cavern’s opening. Push. Blood rushed to his ears. He wanted to scream but could find no breath.
Push! His world was crashing, constricting, contracting. There was no going back, only forward. The thought made him cringe. Push! The opening was larger, he realized. No. Not larger. Closer. Push! He breeched the red tide, briefly, by wedging himself into the bloodied river bed. Push! It slowed his ebb, but not the flow, and he flushed toward the cavern’s gaping mouth once more.
PUSH! The walls enclosed around him. Tight. Tighter. They came alive with each breath; gripping his soft, fleshy skin. PUSH! The walls pulsed and forced him forward, forever closing any hope of return. The darkness behind cast shadow on the light ahead. PUSH! Through the hole lay a world of bright noise and tears.
PUSH! His head crested through the opening, followed by his body. The river rushed past him, below him, as he was carried swiftly to a cushioned pillow of skin. He screamed, at last, and opened his eyes. No longer surrounded by darkness, he saw tears and smiles. He felt touch for the first time and it warmed him. This woman, his woman, pressed something into his mouth. He sucked on life; slept and dreamed.
(J. Ryan Rosser is a Professional Storyteller and Children’s Pastor in Kansas City, MO.)