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Originally Posted by Sabrina Orah Mark
THE MISTAKE
A mistake had been made. "Should we shoot it?" asked Walter B. "Of course," sighed Beatrice, "we should not shoot it." It stood in the long grass and blinked at them. "Where do you think," asked Beatrice, "it came from." "From the debacle, I suppose," is all Walter B. said. And then he considered, "or maybe from the babies." Beatrice tugged at her sleeves. A mistake had been made, and now Walter B. and Beatrice had on their hands a situation. "How," asked Walter B., "do you suppose such a mistake had been made?" The mistake began to pose, as if it heard him. It staggered across the field. For a moment it looked like a woman bent over nothing in particular. And then it rose. And then it opened its mouth. "Oh, look," exclaimed Beatrice, "it's communicating!" "Is it alone?" whispered Walter B., taking Beatrice's hand. "Yes," Beatrice whispered back, "I think it is alone." But it was not alone. It was not alone at all. Others began to emerge. Some from the trees. Some from the grass. Their damp white mouths flashed in the sunlight. "Had I known a little ahead of time," said Walter B., "I would have changed into my suit." "Yes," agreed Beatrice, "we should have arrived more prepared." "This is exactly what," said Walter B. raising his voice, and pointing at the scene in front them, "I had been trying to explain to you. And now we are in a situation without any rope." "Pardon me," said Beatrice. And she began to walk into the field. Slowly, at first. And then faster. And then she began to run. She ran with her arms outstretched, as one might run into a field filled with mothers.
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