Emilia and the Lost Children of Hell

She could do better.

They always said that.

Emilia did not think so.

Once upon a time, when she'd been a child, far from understanding the rules that drove their society, and only basking in the wander of curiosity. The world is a large place, with many wonderful things, but Emilia cannot be part of them, for she must be perfect, and to be perfect, there would no place in her perfect life for such silly trivialities.

Chairs scrape across the floor, students rushing to get out, their conversations mixing into a great symphony of chaos.

Her legs are stuck to the chair, sweat pooled beneath. The smell overpowering in the slight breeze peeking in.

Emilia held the paper in her hand, eyes glued to it.

She doesn't notice the shadow over her, until they jostle her shoulder.

"Emi what did you get this time?"

Emilia tilts the paper in her direction.

"Oh, you freak! You got 80% again. How the fudge do you keep passing without studying?"

She shrugs, tucking the papers in a pocket.

"You don't think aunty will…"

"Leave it," Emilia says sharply.

Naomi nods, her many braids draping across the table. She is a good friend, a bright young lady with sharp intellect and an exotic beauty that overwhelmed most of the population of their school. Nothing Emilia could ever hope to be. Still, she is a good friend. They live next to each other, in the new apartment building across town, and so, since young they'd been pushed together, finding a kinship in each other. Their friendship has endured the passage of time, and the throes of teenage drama. Never mind the cultural differences.

This evening, as they make their way home, through a clean side street, dread pools in her gut; her mother will not be happy.

The much-awaited outburst did not come when she walked through the door. It did not come when she changed her clothes. It did not come while she sat at her desk, pretending to work away at the homework not due until next month. It comes in the middle of dinner, unexpectedly.

Emilia had been on the edge of her seat the whole night, different scenarios of how she can get out of this as unscathed as possible, had played in her mind.

Her mother asks for the test; Emilia carefully unfolded the wrinkled paper and did her best to straighten it. Stiffly, she hands it over, trying to smooth over the lines one last time.

There was a long moment of utter silence as her mother looked over the paper.

June Everly had always been a severe woman. She liked to maintain her appearance almost obsessively, has a penchant for expensive brands, loved bragging, and most importantly, she swore that her late husband had been a waste of space.

The strike comes fast, as usual, her cheek stinging fiercely. She is lucky.

Emilia drops her eyes to the floor.

"Stupid girl, you got 80% again? Why can't you be more like Naomi?"

Emilia bows her head, nodding at the appropriate times, the words washing over her like a tsunami. She already knows them by heart. A mantra in the darkness.

"You won't eat until you learn to be more useful."

Later, when the lights have gone out, and her mother's moans have died, Emilia buries her head in her pillow, tears spilling.

A fire builds in her gut, she clenches her fists.

She makes a promise that night.

Emilia will be better than her parents.

Eight Years later

"I want to be a mother."

Emilia, enjoying the midday sun at a booth, drinking a milkshake with Naomi, has an epiphany, an old forgotten promise surfacing, now that she cannot bury it with excuses; the estate inherited from her grandfather monstrous in size, her savings well used for investments, and her career as a scientist booming.

Naomi snorts and coughs, patting her chest. There's an incredulous look on her face, Emilia gets them often from her, to a certain point that she can differentiate them – this one clearly says, I know you just said something crazy or stupid, but I'm willing to listen.

"Let me get this straight, you suddenly out of nowhere decided you want a kid?"

"Don't be stupid. You know I've always wanted a kid."

"Yeah, cool. Good luck with that, unless you're the virgin Mary."

Emilia screws her nose, dropping her head on her arms.

"Where do you want me to get a decent guy? 70% of them are retarded, the last 30 are either taken, not interested, or gay."

"Being too beautiful is a curse, your gorgeous Italian ass isn't doing you any favours."

Emilia smacks Naomi, pressing her foot on her shiny boots.

"Do not step on the boots! Em, come on man, these cost me a fortune."

Emilia stumbles into Naomi's back on the way out, face smothered by the furry hood.

She turns around, grabbing Emilia, shaking her from side to side.

"I got it. Test tube baby. Get someone to give their sperm to fertilise the egg."

"Nami, do you have to scream. Move your fat ass."

"You know damn well my ass is many things but not fat."

When they get away far enough to leave the whispering crowd behind, they begin to discuss it with vigour.

"I have a friend; he can help us book an appointment. I can probably flirt a discount from him," Naomi begins, pulling her phone out.

"But you're sure, right. This is a child Emilia, it's not a pair of boots you can return. They are loud and messy, and you will not sleep well for the next two years."

"I've never been surer of anything in my life, this is it."

"Cool, I'll get you that appointment for next week."

Many appointments later, special dieting, and one intensive procedure, Emilia is happily pregnant.

It didn't last for long.

Two months in she hated everything.

"Do you have to make so much fucking noise so early in the morning."

"It's 12pm, if that's early then there's something wrong with you. Woke on the wrong side of the bed again?"

"Yeah, fuck you."

Before she could continue the argument a wave of nausea hits her. Emilia rushes to the toilet, stubbing her toe in the process, and promptly throws up the few bites of toast she dared to eat.

A cool hand touches her forehead, pushing her dark hair back and massaging her back.

"Hey, sorry for being a dick," Emilia says, tugging Naomi's sleeve to get her attention.

"It's fine, you're pregnant. Here lemon tea."

"God you're an angel, I swear I don't know what I would do without you."

"Yeah, yeah, you liar. Keep buttering me until your hormones hit your head again."

"Fuck you too, love."

They burst into a fit of giggles.

Naomi insists on taking a picture to commemorate the first two months.

The nausea passed; her belly expanded. They were 6 months in.

Emilia lounges on the couch, idly watching TV. She felt a pang of pain in her abdomen. Rubbing a hand on the bump, she felt the kick the second time.

"Naomi get your ass here. The baby is kicking."

A crash echoes throughout the house, followed by thudding footsteps. Naomi practically falls into the room, eyes wide with wonder. She shakily places a hand on the bump and shouts. The baby kicked.

"He's moving, Em. Our little boy is moving, look."

"Quickly, get the camera."

The video is one of many, Naomi likes to document every new moment, promising to use it as blackmail when their baby finally brings home a special someone – Emilia keeps telling her she's being stupid.

The time to give birth comes sooner than they expected; Emilia, grocery shopping, clutches a radish for support. The contractions hit her hard. People are shouting around her and soon Emilia is being herded into an ambulance. The contractions last long; a pain so unbearable she couldn't know what to compare them to. It comes as a relief when she finally has to push the baby out.

His first cry is music to her ears. Emilia cries with him. She holds her tiny baby gingerly, smothering kisses on his cheeks and cooing gently. Her baby boy, the miracle of her life. Her love. With his tiny hands and tiny fingers, curling around her own.

Naomi does a weird mixture of laughing and crying.

"Want to be my godmother?"

"I thought you wouldn't ask."

In February, the 22nd her beautiful boy, Cassius Emiliano Everly, is born. A week later they take him home.

On February 23rd, right after his 4th birthday, he goes missing.