Winter. The same old harsh period of bleak and long nights. Amid the cold and strong winds, a man tears through the wet and slippery paths of suburban London, interrupting the dreary silence. Though the sun has set and barely any light reflects off the empty streets, his sweat laden eyes catches hold of a statue. The holy figure and image of to whom his faith belongs. He bows his head and charges on leaving the church behind. prays, in between his tortured breaths, that all is well.
Reaching the end of the bend where the pine trees sway, threatening to crack and tumble, he barges in through the door. His presence isn't acknowledged by any of the two figures in the room. He sees the desperate look on the woman's face that accompanies the almost inhuman cries of pain. Rushing to her side, he grips her hand and urges her on. A series of grunts and whimpers ensue. Two pairs of anxious eyes fixated their gaze upon the woman's final lap of labor.
'It is over! It is over! Look at them!' the midwife shouted in sheer joy. She promptly rushed to wrap the babies comfortably. The exhausted but victorious woman opened her weary eyes and smiled. Her face brightened up and her pale lips manage a smile.
