Charlotta, or, It's not a girl.

Single mother faces a bizarre reality.

‘Push!’

The raucous spasms of birth overtook her. Exceptional agony ran in shock-waves through her body. Shrieks of irrepressible pain issued from her as she pushed and pushed. The mother-to-be became worried as she noticed an expression of alarm in the midwife’s face; all attending professionals seemed overtly concerned about the inordinate amount of pain their patient was in. Was this normal? Then a limb, slimy with amniotic fluid, writhed it’s was out of the mother-to-be’s body, extended to its full length and lithely wrapped itself around her leg. It tightened it's hold, and pulled. A second tentacle made an appearance, and flailed in the air as it searched out a place to gain purchase. At last the birthing was complete, and it was with utmost and extreme horror that the midwife handed to the mother,a dried off and perfectly formed squid. 

The mother was repelled by her offspring. The way it’s glasses eyes stood proudly on the side of its elongated head, staring out in disgusting vulnerability, it’s constant need for attention, feeding it, cleaning up after it, amusing it. It all took a toll, and built up in the mother a resentment which seemed a rage turned inward. She rocked the thing to and fro in one arm as she chopped food in the kitchen, preparing a lunch for the pair of then when she accidentally cut her finger. After licking the wound, she looked around for the plasters when she noticed her progeny was holding the pack out for her. It had reached out for them as soon as it had noticed it’s mother hurt, and while she affixed the plaster, she further noticed the thing rest it’s head on her shoulder in an empathetic act. Little acts of kindness and compassion followed though the months, passing objects just out of arm reach but available to slender tentacles, a sympathetic look when the mother was obviously struggling with something, an all-round consideration of her. A bond had formed, and for the early years they lived with minimal disruption and relative harmony. 

Time passed in a similar vein. The only thing that troubled her was she would return from a days out shopping to find her young one staring wistfully out of the window. She dare not let it leave the house, for on coming home that first day from the hospital she’d noticed her neighbours not only disturbed by what they had seen in her arms, but hostile. She knew that they would harm it, the children would tease it and the adults would hurtfully ignore it. So she had confined it to the house of its own safety, a decision, which whilst she did not regret, led to its occasionally melancholy and increasingly frequent outbursts of anger. The commotion really kicked off when, one day, she returned from a short visit out to find the kitchen turned up-side-down, and food stuffs smeared over the walls. Her offspring became more unfriendly as well, pulling away from her emotionally, and every now and again she would catch it giving her overtly hostile glares. 

They had barely shared a moment in months at one period. She saw it off to bed, and went to her own room. Having had a fitful and restless night, she awoke suddenly. Staring up at the ceiling she noticed nothing amiss. Wondering what had awoken her, she closed her eyes to try and drift off again, she noticed a slight movement to her left. She turned on her side to see her progeny had got into bed with her. It fixed her with a hard, unwavering glare which paralysed her, then pounced.