I'm pregnant with an infant word. Still he's really tiny, although I conceived him long years ago. I cradle him under my tongue all day, hiding him from the world, hoping he will grow stronger, knowing that he won't. He's ailing.
I hum soothing syllables when he's struggling against the floor of my mouth. The doctor says, despite his size my little word is so twisted and wound up that he'll be stuck in the birth channel of my lips. He says he could force him out of me, but I'm sure fragile little No wouldn't survive the ordeal. Neither would I. No is my only hope. I need him as much as he needs me. I need him to protect me from his dark sister.
Right in this moment I can feel her crawling up my throat. She makes me choke on her on purpose. She's a mean thing, raging in my mouth for attention. Only No could save me from her treachery, but he's too weak. He really takes after me.
I know that in time Yes will break her baby brother to pieces when she forces her way out of my body for the last time. She has never cared for the pain she causes me. She's just like her father. When she's done with us, I will cut myself on the sharp endings of No's fractured stroke. I will bleed when his serifs pierce my flesh. At last I will die unheard. Maybe then I'll whisper my stillborn son.