Stardust

by Rebecca Latyntseva

A stork swooped through the clouds and deposited her in a cabbage patch. A blue-eyed, bloodstained doll in a basket; a pink squawking blob alone on her own. Choking on mother’s rancid milk; rattling her rattle in percussional protest to a deafeningly silent house.

well i told my mum i evolved from stardust and she just glared at me what can you do when your own mother doesnt beleive you she just carried on swiging her jin and tonick and turned up the volume on her coronasion street soap opera well anyway i read an artical in the doctors waiting room all about evolusion and apparantly were all evolved from exploding stars

Mother’s hands large as roaring cars as they smashed into Naughty-girl’s flesh then tugged her locks into painful pigtails and zipped her into frilly dresses. Once a biped, she’d totter away from mother’s tree trunk legs, squealing with the euphoria of escape until she crashed into obstacles and was captured and encaged in her toyless playpen prison again.

so maybe as i told mum i am a star we all are stars serviving by what is called as natral selectsion or is it fossals i dont know but whatever its some thing very special and secrative and sientific that were alive even the bored faces at the bus stop or those poor cows queitly going crazy at the tescos checkout tills there all stars

Naughty-girl grew quickly, scuffed shoes squishing her toes as she smiled rictuses at school photographers and tried to ignore the bullies teasing her in the playground. Mother’s hands diminished and her shouting descrescendoed as Naughty-girl encapsulated herself in a glass cage. Parallel worlds, no one could x-ray her thoughts as hair sprouted from private parts and moaning pheromones serenaded her.

what can you do we used to be ameebas and then there was some thing called mutasions sounds perverted if you ask me but there you go its us exploding stars many gazilleons of years ago

Home devolved into a mere dot on a map as Naughty-girl promenaded dark parks, searching for something, anything, yet finding nothing but squirrels, leaves and ducks until a man with a lurid smile unzipped his fly and thrust his... in-out-in-out-in-out... squirting spermatozoa into Naughty-girl’s screaming tubes.

and all we can do now is feel we ought to feel gratefull that were part of the servival of the fittest tho id say its servival of the fattest looking at the junk we cram into our bodies and then we reproduce more evolving babies

Zygotes blossomed and Naughty-girl’s womb ballooned into social stigmata. Mother’s hunchback turned; classmates sniggered innuendos; antenatal nurses peered into her tearstained eyes with empathic gazes, proffering boxes of colourful tissues like fake Santas handing out lollipops to toddlers.

well whatever happens my baby amy-bea will be as preshus as stardust to me

Breaking waters... midwives wielding knives... searing pain and a bloodbath of birth as Naughty-girl’s spirit soars, dreaming of swooping storks as she holds and enfolds her newborn squawking pink blob of stardust.