Delivered in the wee hours, never a sound made; not even a whimper or gasp.
Trundled away in a cold, steel basinet to be “revived” by some damned machine. A tube for this, a tube for that. Electrodes pasted here, there, everywhere on the tiny body that shivered even beneath the heat lamps and heated oxygen feeds.
Easter Morning, it was. A time of joy. A time to celebrate life given and life renewed. The church sent them over after the service. Their scent filled the room. What a horrible scent, fresh lillies on the window sill. Like the life they represent, they’ll be gone too soon. Wilted, shriveled… dead.