“Priscilla, I need you to do your best,” Doctor Amy reassured the woman laying on a bed. A man in the same light-blue doctor's gown sat on a cushioned stool, holding onto Priscilla’s hand, which he brought to the bed’s railing to allow her a firm grasp for the pain she was waiting to endure.

Grunts, moans, and shouts of illogical nonsense blasted the sanitary white room of various medical gadgets. A vigilant female doctor and nurse remained by Priscilla’s side, their demeanor unchanging from the once quiet scenery. Their diligence exuded a familiarity with the progression of events.

“I will need you to move off to the side for this, Caesar,” said Nurse Julie. Taking the cue, Caesar lifted his rump from the stool and positioned himself behind her, leaving enough space between in case of any unexpected swings.

Minutes later, the head of a child began to reveal itself as the agony of Priscilla climaxed at shrilling, only to soon subside by the extraction of tiny feet, freeing both from nine months of genesis on January 1^st.

Swapping positions with Nurse Julie, Caesar looked down at his feeble wife laden in sweat. Gentle hands caressed her scalp followed by a light peck on her forehead; her eyes beaming in tired delight at his approached face. As he retracted his neck, Priscilla swiftly grabbed his fingers by the side of her bed. “I need you to take care of our child, hun.”

With her remaining energy, Priscilla raised her head to kiss her husband’s lowered lips and rested limp on her bed; a constant, mechanized high-pitched ring settling her message.

In a somber and contentious world, Priscilla was a bloomed flower on concrete. A stark contrast to the doomed faces and mindlessness adopted by everyone around her, yet her presence lacked any profound effect. Caesar was baffled by the people’s willful ignorance at a miracle in front of their eyes and approached her in awe and confusion. Why had people ignored her when she was clearly different?

Perhaps people did not want a target on their back, or their minds were busy and entrenched in the everyday sewage of mundanity that they could not distinguish between beauty and “reality”. Having dabbled significantly in this rote reality, Caesar declared enough and waited many years to spot an anomaly. He did not like to display his superiority in matters of having a romantic relationship like many of his peers did. Befriending people regardless of age did not interest him, either. It seemed everyone wanted him to stay where he wanted to leave. Wake up, eat, work, sleep, repeat. There had to be more than that.

Caesar noticed Priscilla sitting alone on a park’s bench, gracefully letting the wind pass her. He recognized the distinct air she brought: lighter, breathable, inviting, and welcoming. His search for an anomaly was beauty, and it had gracefully settled. A conversation was had—Priscilla listening to Caesar’s experience in a mundane life as a salaried clerk, and Caesar listening to Priscilla’s interests in arts, dance, and feeling the wind. They embarrassed each other of their hobbies and shared their mundane preferences such as color, which only meant they were ready to gift each other something.

Decades of accumulated pleasantness turned to joy – the epitome of every desired relationship – and one, gentle exhale facilitated its collapse.

Tears welled in the eyes of Caesar, dripping onto his smiling wife’s face. It was not fair for her to pass after moments of peace—it could have been years of celebration and family. He knew it was a futile and selfish request, yet his body remained shocked as it slumped in grief from the unforeseen.

“We… did not expect this either. She was in optimal condition. I’m so sorry,” Doctor Amy sniffled words of consolation. She was with Priscilla throughout the child’s conception, witnessing the couple bonding through times of pain, laughter, and uneventfulness. Unlike others she had seen throughout her experience, the relationship of the couple was serene—no signs of jealousy and other melodrama imbibed from the common culture. Their electrifying connection was something that she could not put a word to.

“Life… happens… At the very least it wasn’t the other way around,” Caesar replied in a whimper.

Doctor Amy knelt down, eyes lined up to Caesar’s. “Yes. There is one problem, however.” Caesar’s body was now fraught with dread. The doctor prepared her words carefully at the notice of his slight grimace in a field of worry.

“We can’t seem to pick your child up.”

“…What?…” Though prepared to defend himself against the worst, the absurdity of the statement instead invigorated Caesar. “You have carts, strong doctors, and machines, and you can’t pick my damn child up!?”

A chuckle arose from behind the doctor, drawing the attention of Caesar’s venomous eyes to Nurse Julie. He knew his anger was unfounded, especially when Doctor Amy knew Priscilla during her pregnancy. But to be unable to simply pick a child up was unheard of. How much could a newborn weigh?

Doctor Amy sighed. “It’s not because your child is heavy, Caesar. We can’t approach him because he’s telling us to ask you to hold him. This is something I have never experienced—my body won’t even allow a lift of a pinky to touch him!”

Dumbfounded by his assumptions, Caesar walked towards his child that remained near Priscilla’s womb and slowly lifted the child up to his arms, ensuring that the frail, infantile neck remained leveled. He was surprised that his child was quiet despite the wailing and shouts from himself and his now deceased wife. If the doctors could not touch his child, how—

“Although we could not touch the baby, we were able to help your wife not clamp down on him,” said Nurse Julie as if responding to Caesar’s thoughts.

Looking at the doctor and nurse, then down at his arms, the fragile humanoid lump began to reveal his eyes—its hazel color perfectly reflecting the face before him. Caesar smiled at the uncleaned boy, and tears of grief turned to… simply tears. He lacked words to detail the expansive feeling of another life he supported to create, on top of the responsibility as a new father. He eyed Priscilla, hoping that she was watching without a body.

The child let out soft “ahs” rhythmically. First, it sounded like something was lodged in his throat, but Caesar let such assumptions dissolve—coming to a conclusion that his son was mimicking a laugh.

He followed his son and roared in a contagious laughter, with Julie and Amy joining. It was strange. The doctors gave a different sound compared to past times Caesar spoke with them—a hearty laughter instead of obligatory giggles. Even stranger, he was laughing for no damn reason! Whether it was madness, he did not care.

Julie and Amy suppressed their laughter, only to burst moments later, distracting their well-practiced diligence of cleaning a medical room. To add to this madness, a deceased person lay limp, with their beloved standing next to her in bliss. The nurse’s and doctor’s realization that they were laughing in such an absurd situation created a never-ending cascade until the layers of justification to laugh subsided. No reason was needed for such joy to persist.

This feeling was similar to, if not much greater than Caesar’s initial contact with his wife. It was only then that Priscilla’s words infused into Caesar’s bones—their son was the gift.