...

The evening had been hot.  Lying in bed, tummy side up, she could barely roll over to her sides to lessen the tension building up on her backbones.  The ceiling fan, bought cheap from a wayside store, had been uncooperative.  Dangling a couple of inches away from her mosquito net.  It had started to whine, then to sputter, then finally stopped whirling altogether.  With nothing else to keep her cool save a native hand fan, she lay in darkness drowsily fanning herself to keep from dripping with sweat.  Hungry mosquitoes buzz angrily from outside the net.  She was thankful she didn't have to worry about stinging mosquito bites.  She was well protected.  From outside, the moon casts an eerie to her bedroom window.  The soft evening breeze connived with a cherry tree to produce sinister scratching sounds as its branches swiped the vinyl rooftop.  Every now and then, she'd strain her ears to catch tiny scuffling feet on the floor or the soft treading of cat paws on the rooftop.  Suddenly, she sucks in air.  And moaning softly, she lets it out slowly.  Her ribs are sore.  Her hips too strained.  Her feet swollen.  Gently, she pats her tummy.  The baby responds by relaxing and settling down.  Her stomach however, growls in complaint.  Pang so f hunger gnaw at her sides.