Transmigrant - Chapter 12
Copyright © 2024 Stephen B. Anthony
There is something special about seeing your own flesh and blood run around the berth and knowing that you are the only woman on the ship who is raising her own natural child.
—Christine Silman Decker
CHAPTER 12
Days blurred into weeks, then months, and years. Years gave way to decades, centuries, and finally millennia. An eternity later, a bright light pierced her vision. She tried to shut it out, but it persisted, forcing her to wake.
“Turn off the light,” she mumbled, her voice weak.
“It will be okay,” said a voice, warm and reassuring.
But the voice faded, leaving her alone again.
Dark.
Cold.
Quiet.
A touch. Something soothing. Warmth spread through her body, reaching her arms, legs, hands, and feet. It moved through her chest, back, abdomen, up her spine, and into her head. The warmth grew hotter, searing her from the inside out. She screamed, and then blessed coolness replaced the heat.
But the chill grew colder. She shivered. Her limbs went numb. Her lips and eyelashes felt frozen. She begged for warmth again. And when it came, it seared her anew. The cycle of too much cold and too much heat exhausted her. Her flesh cried out, seeking relief. Her soul wanted to quit.
Just let it end.
But it didn’t end. It tortured her continually.
How long? How long? How long has it been?