He said her name was Anita.

The three syllables dropped in the silence between them and she heard a tinker of sadness hung in
the air.
She was 2-months old, a foetus growing in Gabys round and soft bell, an entity taking in the soul
and the essence of the world. She was only 2-months old when Gaby decided to leave her out of the
complication that she called her world.
He didnt have a chance to say goodbye. One minute Anita was curled up tightly like a seed inside
Gabs soft and round belly, the next minute she was removed, disposed of, pushed down in some
sorts of medical waste management. At least it would eventually lead to the sea. There Anita would
gradually decompose into millions of tiny other beings, all dancing at the bottom of the ocean, ready
for life to blow into them another breath. Perhaps Anita would become a fish, perhaps her tiny
fingers would become colourful fins, fanning against the waves, riding on the currents. Perhaps.
He took in a deep inhale of cigarettes. Not any cigarettes. Menthol. He likes the after taste that
tingles his senses after each inhale and exhale. He was staring into space when the cigarette slowly
burnt into ashes on the tips of his fingers. She knew he was looking at his past. She asked if he
wanted to have a baby. He said yes. He wanted Anita, the little creature that was seeking refugee
inside Gabs soft and round belly, waiting for the right time to come out like a seed after the rain. He
wanted to be the earth then. And Anita, little Anita, would be safe and warm in his gentle embrace.
He cracked a sad smile and she thought then he was singing silenelt a lullaby for the soul that never
got a chance to manifest.
He was angry at Gab for taking her awa. Anita. His baby. His child. A small seed that never got to
sprout. He dreamt of her every night then, dreamt of her brunette curly locks falling sotfl on her
dreamy green eyes. His eyes. Her smile was bright, like a drop on sunlight on a buttercup. Gabys
smile.
What else did he dream of? Holding her tight in his arms, rocking her soft body, singing her the same
song that his mum sang to him when he was her age, promising to forever shelter her from the
storms of life, teaching her to dance in the rain like he did. Telling her he loved her. Telling he loved
her. Again. And again. How could he ever say it enough?
Anita. The three syllables dropped into the silence between them, leaving behind a trace of echo like
the innocent laughter of a child. Anita was her name. Was. Until she became one with the sea that
so generously and gently took her in.
Anita is now sleeping soundly deep in the seas bossom. Anita is becoming a fish,a breath, a tiny
buble rising up to the surface of the water. Not a mistake that Gab had to erase forever. Anita was
life. Anita is life. Enternal. Sweet, enternal life.
Anita is a prayer forever engraved in the soft layer of his heart.