sight.
“I really do not know. It is not up to you or I to decide the gender of our baby.”
It does not make sense. Rollo’s belly rumbles in response to the inexplicable answer. Ingrid is denying the existence of her agency. Suggesting something beyond her influence will determine gender.
“I want a girl,” says Rollo.
Ingrid assaults Rollo with her gaze, flooding him with violent mentality. She pours her will into it. Giving everything she has to the task. Rollo acts in direct opposition, tempting her focus to falter. Manipulating her away from the bureau and taking the baby. Finishing the baby. Forcing a gender of his choosing upon it.
“We might have a girl. We might have a boy. It is not up to you or I to decide.”
The whistling sound of Rollo’s thought increases in pitch and volume. Ingrid counters, attacking him with psychic babble.
…
The entrance to the Prefrontal Chamber has been sewn shut. Until Ingrid has finished the baby, Rollo is not permitted access, even to eat and sleep. She has covered the mirror that allows visual access from the Occipital Chamber. He has been told access will be reinstated when the baby is ready. Time, an ambiguous notion at best in the context of the fort, seems to cease its passage. Rollo’s exclusion finds stasis.
Ingrid keeps one eye on the entrance and the other eye on her work. The baby now exists as several components. Two legs of slightly differing lengths sit plump with stuffing. Two arms are about to undergo the same process. The torso awaits its limbs. Off to the side sits their child’s head. Rudimentary features illustrate its face. A line of black yarn for the mouth. Straight. No applicable emotion. Two red circles of yarn for eyes. Subtly raised eyebrows suggesting the moment prior to surprise. Another straight line. Vertical. A slight curve at the base. This is the nose. Clustered yellow strands have become hair. The head will wait until all other elements have become one.
She would like to dedicate more time to the assembly, but fears Rollo will not allow this. She knows something about the baby Rollo does not and feels it will displease him. Contrary to Rollo’s desires, the baby is a boy. He will think Ingrid is responsible. It is only by virtue of her hands this is true. Cognition played no role in the gender. She is convinced of it. There was no awareness of the developing male characteristics until after the characteristics emerged.
Ingrid senses, at some level, she knew their child would be a boy. She feels greater kinship with the male experience, but does not know why. Some things are just known as so. If forces beyond her deigned it appropriate she should influence its gender somehow, in what way could she be blamed? The wool in Ingrid’s hands is more than wool. The baby exists beyond a collection of sewn shapes. The baby existed before Ingrid existed. The determination of what has become is of a chain extending further back and farther forward than time conceives.
This, like anything, can be calculated as so. This is more than Rollo. This is more than Ingrid. This is more than the fort.
8.
The readings suggest universal change in atmosphere. Numbers congress in unfamiliar order. Rollo examines readings past, searching for precedents. It becomes apparent the numbers have found a new order. One beyond Rollo’s capacity to calculate and comprehend. It cannot be determined whether such an order represents jeopardy. Rollo is unable to dismiss the notion of the baby as pathogen, infecting the fort’s bloodstream. A movement toward slow death. His journey through past readings stretches back, detailing the evolution of understanding. Early readings are incomplete. Tentative in penmanship. Rollo conjures an earlier version of himself, overwhelmed by data. Unsure how to document the deluge. At a loss to decipher what they wish to convey. Numbers are crossed out. Re-written. Doubled over. At want for comprehension.
“I really do not know. It is not up to you or I to decide the gender of our baby.”
It does not make sense. Rollo’s belly rumbles in response to the inexplicable answer. Ingrid is denying the existence of her agency. Suggesting something beyond her influence will determine gender.
“I want a girl,” says Rollo.
Ingrid assaults Rollo with her gaze, flooding him with violent mentality. She pours her will into it. Giving everything she has to the task. Rollo acts in direct opposition, tempting her focus to falter. Manipulating her away from the bureau and taking the baby. Finishing the baby. Forcing a gender of his choosing upon it.
“We might have a girl. We might have a boy. It is not up to you or I to decide.”
The whistling sound of Rollo’s thought increases in pitch and volume. Ingrid counters, attacking him with psychic babble.
…
The entrance to the Prefrontal Chamber has been sewn shut. Until Ingrid has finished the baby, Rollo is not permitted access, even to eat and sleep. She has covered the mirror that allows visual access from the Occipital Chamber. He has been told access will be reinstated when the baby is ready. Time, an ambiguous notion at best in the context of the fort, seems to cease its passage. Rollo’s exclusion finds stasis.
Ingrid keeps one eye on the entrance and the other eye on her work. The baby now exists as several components. Two legs of slightly differing lengths sit plump with stuffing. Two arms are about to undergo the same process. The torso awaits its limbs. Off to the side sits their child’s head. Rudimentary features illustrate its face. A line of black yarn for the mouth. Straight. No applicable emotion. Two red circles of yarn for eyes. Subtly raised eyebrows suggesting the moment prior to surprise. Another straight line. Vertical. A slight curve at the base. This is the nose. Clustered yellow strands have become hair. The head will wait until all other elements have become one.
She would like to dedicate more time to the assembly, but fears Rollo will not allow this. She knows something about the baby Rollo does not and feels it will displease him. Contrary to Rollo’s desires, the baby is a boy. He will think Ingrid is responsible. It is only by virtue of her hands this is true. Cognition played no role in the gender. She is convinced of it. There was no awareness of the developing male characteristics until after the characteristics emerged.
Ingrid senses, at some level, she knew their child would be a boy. She feels greater kinship with the male experience, but does not know why. Some things are just known as so. If forces beyond her deigned it appropriate she should influence its gender somehow, in what way could she be blamed? The wool in Ingrid’s hands is more than wool. The baby exists beyond a collection of sewn shapes. The baby existed before Ingrid existed. The determination of what has become is of a chain extending further back and farther forward than time conceives.
This, like anything, can be calculated as so. This is more than Rollo. This is more than Ingrid. This is more than the fort.
8.
The readings suggest universal change in atmosphere. Numbers congress in unfamiliar order. Rollo examines readings past, searching for precedents. It becomes apparent the numbers have found a new order. One beyond Rollo’s capacity to calculate and comprehend. It cannot be determined whether such an order represents jeopardy. Rollo is unable to dismiss the notion of the baby as pathogen, infecting the fort’s bloodstream. A movement toward slow death. His journey through past readings stretches back, detailing the evolution of understanding. Early readings are incomplete. Tentative in penmanship. Rollo conjures an earlier version of himself, overwhelmed by data. Unsure how to document the deluge. At a loss to decipher what they wish to convey. Numbers are crossed out. Re-written. Doubled over. At want for comprehension.
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