Beautiste. Or was it?

6th November – 2000

The sun began saturating as it kissed the moonlight into eternal sleep and rose for the start of dawn. The horizon was getting brighter by the moment with a radiance of an earth-glow in that breaking dawn of birth for Beautiste.

Night lay contracting for hours upon hours, every muscle spasm bringing pain as she was tucked into the red alarms of an emergency and the heartbeat of her so precious fourth child had singled out, leaving the unborn child to take the very last breath whilst still not birthed.

Hours upon hours, Night lay there, losing blood as Beautiste was finally brought out into the world at the break of dawn- the sun, the moon and stars sharing their blessings for the child now born with still no raging heartbeat.

“Move away and give me the child! Now!” cried the foreign doctor into the emergency room of Night’s impending stillborn child. Pump after pump, slap after slap, huff after puff till the cries of young Beautiste were heard among the raging sounds of tides running with the sun at breaking dawn.

“You have been brought back young one- through great trouble and great work, you have been blessed with a renewal. The child born undead from a mother named Night, at the greatest break of dawn. What a contradiction you are. Grow to be an anomaly, young child”

The foreign doctor unnamed quoted harsh but wise words as he left in the break of sunrise.

She was born. Beautiste had been born. Through great lengths she was meant to be here.

5th October- 2007

“But Beau, you can’t leave so soon! w-we were making pizza, you can’t go now! Go later” stammered Moses as he yanked on Beau’s hand whilst she blinked with every moment her eyes piercing his hazels in the afternoon sun.

“I’m sorry Moose, but my mummy said we are going London now. I will bring you back a big red double-D bus! Then we can ride it and throw snowballs at those little kids and karate chop together again!” with every ounce of innocence and excitement, Beau kissed Moses’ rose bud tinted cheeks and turned to walk back to her family- yet never did Moses let her go.

“Okay if you say so. Wait ill bring you something too!” with that he ran off into the classroom that would be left, never tread on again by Beau for many sorrowful yet enlightening years to come. Left to her memory and story to tell.

Moses came running back out with a blooming rose in his hand, every thorn piercing the pure skins of his fingers- yet in that moment, nothing but Beautiste mattered in time. Nothing but Beautiste mattered to Moses.

“Thank you, Moses! I will miss you but don’t worry, I will come back and see you. I promise” with that she turned, footprints of innocence trailing after her as she made her first truthful promise, yet her last broken promise.

Beautiste was beginning new memories of joy and sorrow in an unknown, mysterious land they call;

LONDON- 2007

For young Beautiste, a new country was a new world. One unexplored, filled with endless beauties and exciting ventures. She never questioned much of what she was doing yet followed what her family knew best. Beautiste learned many things in the first class she had, in the new world they called London.

She quickly learned that her behaviour wasn’t appreciated as much as it was back with Moose- and in fact was, peculiar? Questionable to the definition of peculiarity, Beautiste began the journey of writing her hidden book of secrets.

From her first day in year one, she recorded the interactions of those around her. Social interactions, for every world had a different language- and every society had a different structure.

Young Beautiste knew two words from her days in Scandinavia- those were ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Little did she know- she should have left those two objective words behind and learned them anew in this world of noughts and crosses, reds and blue, yeses and noes.

Approached by her first teacher, she hears many words being said with a tone of questioning- but it was like water submerged her, for she could only bare witness to the pending silence that awaited her answers. In a muddle of answering yeses and noes – she was almost perceived to know English. Which she did not. Yet.

A single branch of the many that led to her sitting outside the teacher’s office often.

Disregarding language barriers, young Beautiste appreciated social interaction and connection through other ways. From drawing to sounding.

You did not need to know language of speech to communicate intentions and happiness.

Not too many agreed.

Young Beautiste was still peculiar.

Author’s Note:

Part 2 is pending… ?