Thorn Cradle

posted in: Other | 0

The lullaby in clawed vinyl echoes off molding walls.

I cannot rock the poor baby to sleep – no matter how much I caress its soft skin and hum to the broken tune.

The splintered mobile dangles lifelessly from a fractured ceiling.

And the screams. The screams. Are they mine? Or are they the infant’s?

The wooden toys with peeling paint lay sprawled and a charred floor.

Why I can’t soothe him? I’ve done everything. I need to sleep. I need to rest. But I cannot put the baby down until it sleeps. It must sleep.

The thorn cradle waits in the center of a dying room.

For the life of me, I must rest. But the child must come first.


I crawl inside the thorn cradle. The pricks numbed by fatigue. And I hold the child close to my chest so that it may finally fall asleep.




real hot amateur latina girl getting fucked real
Follow Christian Gann:

Creative writer, published freelance photographer and journalist, creative cinematographer -- "The fact of storytelling hints at a fundamental human unease, hints at human imperfection. Where there is perfection there is no story to tell." ~ Ben Okri

Latest posts from

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.