Sunday, January 23, 2011


BUT I LOVE HER by K.W. Taylor

The midwife's voice held the faintest trace of a quaver. “This used to happen a lot, actually,” she said. “The old books, they talk about this quite a bit.” This claim was followed quickly by a weak smile.

When Devon met the smile with a frown, the midwife averted her eyes.

“Well, I mean, it was still a problem then, but at least it was more common,” the midwife qualified.

“When was this?” Devon asked. She was clutching the bundle to her chest as it squirmed.

“About a thousand years ago.”

Devon gaped at the other woman. “So the most recent medical experience on this problem is from the freaking ninth century! What'd they recommend as treatment, leeching?”

A musical, nervous laugh. “Oh, no, no, not at all. There were ways to . . . to, I guess, er . . . I guess what they were probably actually doing, without knowing, really, was altering the child's DNA.”

Devon peeked down at her newborn. The cornflower eyes, the sparse auburn curls on the forehead, and tiny arms wrestling to get free of the blanket . . . “She's so perfect as she is,” Devon mused. “Altering her very self just to--”

From the bottom of the blanket, other appendages demanded that the fabric constricting them be loosened. Devon felt a flutter in her chest as she carefully unwrapped her daughter.

“See, now those,” said the midwife, pointing at the child's fluff-covered wings, “those might get some attention at pre-school.”

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