Landscaping (Stories) (Short Story‪)‬

I was carrying a son. I knew this because he would not rest, particularly at night, inside my stuffy bedroom. Eloise's snoring grated on him. He flipped and wriggled inside my womb. He was ravenous, and he drank me dry every night, so that I woke each morning with a parched mouth. I could picture my boy, the strange arrangement of him. He had only just shed his prehensile tail. Soft, fine hairs grew in patches on his skull, like moss on quartz. His skin was translucent, and brown fat was beginning to coalesce in pockets on his fishy body. My womb felt like a foreign sea, with his alien intelligence in the underwater darkness. One night he would not stay still. His legs weren't strong enough to kick, but he beat his little body back and forth, sounding me like a drum. I knew what was bothering him. The boy hated to be indoors. I ran my hands over the skin of my belly to simulate the sound of wind.