WARNING: This horror short story involves mature themes and imagery that some readers might find disturbing. Reader discretion is advised.

A bird hopped from branch to branch on the tree right outside the window through which she looked. Tired of life, slouched on the armchair, she pondered. The silence, which she hadn’t had for a long time, pleased her. It was so good to finally rest! Ever since she found out she was pregnant, it had been fourteen months dealing with the fatigue, the pain and the bothersome daily noise. The bird on the tree was looking for a branch that had some fruit. It would be nice to keep forever watching that little great kiskadee searching for food.

Those months were the worst in her entire life. Not only did she have to stand the physical discomforts of the pregnancy, but she also had to put up with sharing the apartment with the worst possible person at that moment: her mother. The old woman would not even let her take a shower by herself and was never quiet; she had to talk about something in every single moment. The anger only grew when she gave her advice – never requested – about how to deal with the loss of what should had been the father. He will burn in hell for what he did, my love, she used to say. You must only pray for his soul, ask for forgiveness. This way, who knows, maybe you’ll find your strength again.

The last moment she was able to mourn the ending of the relationship was when he abandoned her. After that, it was only praying, asking for forgiveness and pretending that all was well. The bird on the window flapped its wings for a moment and reappeared with a tiny red fruit on its beak. She smiled. A shy smile, barely noticeable on her pale face, but truly genuine. She took a deep breath, feeling the cleanliness of the air fill her lungs. The silence felt even more pleasant when she remembered that not long ago her front-door neighbors were once again knocking on her door, filling the apartment with unwanted noise. This had been another evil from these last months: “kind” neighbors who wanted to help someone in her condition.

It was impressive, actually, how quiet it was right now. Could it be because it was a Sunday? Sunday. She should have gone to church, but it was so difficult. Her mother, fortunately, had to go back to Curitiba last month. When she was around, they went to church every Sunday, and everyone treated her way too well due to her pregnancy, but she didn’t want that. Her self-control over her anger peaked when she heard her mother, right before she left, ask the neighbors to “keep an eye on her” while she was away. As if she was a child. Even worse, a dog.

They should know she had full capacity to be by herself and that she didn’t want any sort of help. She just wanted to skip to the good part. Wanted to feel the happiness that she felt when she found out that she was carrying a child, but it didn’t come. It went away, just like he did when she told him he was going to be a dad. The calmness and tranquility that surrounded her now, at least, were very close to that first month.

Police sirens – or would they be from an ambulance? – could be heard. Away goes the silence.

She looked at the tree. The great kiskadee, who was inside its nest, skipped to the closest branch and looked around. From inside, two small beaks from even smaller kiskadee chicks appeared, wide open. Despite the siren sound, she managed to hear the chirps from the small ones, asking for more food. Her own chick asked for food like that, crying.

She closed her eyes, trying to hear the chirping more clearly now that the sirens were turned off. It was much more pleasant than the crying of her son. Another siren sounded, distant, muffling the sounds of the birds. The noise got closer until it stopped. The singing of the great kiskadee didn’t return. She opened her eyes once again and saw, in a blur, the mother bird at the entrance of her nest, protecting its offspring.

A deep, familiar voice came from the other side of the main door of her apartment. The voice asked to be let in, and at the same time someone knocked on the wood. She was too tired to want or even be able to get up from the armchair. Another voice asked to be let in now, but soon it faded away. Darkness filled her eyes, before she finished closing them.

A thump.

Another.

The silence was, now, completely lost, but she was calm.

They entered at last, knocking down the door with a final thump. She was able to hear her neighbor gasp in shock, claiming God’s help. He must have seen the cut through the baby’s throat, who cried so much lately. The cut in her wrists didn’t allow her to enjoy her peace as fast as she wanted to, but now, feeling her heart beat one last time, she knew how good it was to finally be able to rest!

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This story is one of the ten in my book, Tears and Shadows.

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