“All the reindeer finally loved him. They all shouted with glee.
Rudolph grinned at them all. He released his tentacles.”
Also in writing this I reread the old contributions and realised
“Different” would be better if I changed just one word (see if you
can spot it):
“Every pregnancy is different,” Jan says reassuringly. She carried
our son four years ago. She breezed through it.
This has been more thunderstorm; less breeze. Not just the morning
sickness and swollen ankles but this sense of foreboding.
“Not that different,” is what my wife really means. That I should
quit being so worried. That I’m being too dramatic.
The midwife is here with us.
His tentacles tear my cervix. The midwife screams. I see
them reaching out; blood drains from Jan’s face as she squeezes
I mumble as I pass out, “See, it is different.”