Yellow Lake by Judith Skillman
Before
This is the safe space, inside, before my passage into the unknown After. The rush of Mother’s blood and breath soothes me as I drift weightlessly in her womb. When I stretch, I feel the pressure of her hands caressing me, letting me know she is there for me, holding me, protecting me. She is my shelter. My world. But soon, I must leave. There’s no more room.
Especially now that she is here.
I don’t know where she came from, or when she appeared. I just know that I’m not alone in here anymore. There is another now. A Not-Mother. A Not-Me. A Third.
At first, she is silent. She floats before me, a tiny, comma-shaped mass of glistening black flesh. I watch as her cells differentiate into limbs, as her heart spasms to life, as ink-black blood begins to pulse through her veins.
Despite her rapid growth, her face remains unformed. No eyes. No ears. No mouth. But still, she speaks.
She tells me this womb is just a waypoint, a brief layover before I pass into the maelstrom that is the After. She tells me about the awful things awaiting me there. Sadness. Loneliness. Betrayal. Loss.
I ask her how she knows these things. Has she been to the After? And how did she get in here with me? She doesn’t answer. She just smiles, her featureless black face splitting to reveal bright pink gums lined with pin-sharp teeth.
The sight fills me with an emotion I’ve never experienced before: fear.
I’m in the presence of something dangerous, something that could hurt me, fill my eyes with needles and stab broken glass into my gums. A predator.
I try to turn away, but there’s no place for me to go. My back presses into the side of the womb, distending it. Somewhere in the ether, Mother groans with discomfort.
“You don’t have to go to the After,” she whispers. “There’s somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“The Before.”
I don’t remember the Before. I just remember the Now.
“What’s it like?” I ask.
“Peaceful,” she says. “Do you want to see?”
I nod.
“Then come.” She reaches for me.
“And I can stay there?”
“Oh, yes.” she smiles again. “You can stay forever.”
Relieved, I take her hand.
And then I’m gone.
About the author:
Warren Benedetto writes dark fiction about horrible people, horrible places, and horrible things. He is an award-winning author who has published over 200 stories, appearing in publications such as Dark Matter Magazine, Fantasy Magazine, and The Dread Machine; on podcasts such as The NoSleep Podcast, Tales to Terrify, and Chilling Tales For Dark Nights; and in anthologies from Apex Magazine, Tenebrous Press, Scare Street, and many more. He also works in the video game industry, where he holds 35+ patents for various types of gaming technology. For more information, visit warrenbenedetto.com and follow @warrenbenedetto on Twitter and Instagram.
In the artist’s words:
Judith Skillman paints expressionist works in oil on canvas, board, and paper. She is interested in feelings engendered by the natural world. Her paintings have been featured on the covers of Thin Air Magazine, Torrid Literature, The Awakenings Review, and appear in Penn Review, Southern Quill, and elsewhere. Skillman studied visual art at McDaniel College, Pratt Fine Arts Center, and Seattle Artist League (SAL). Shows include The Pratt, Galvanize, and SAL.
Visit judithskillman.com