BOOK DEPT 
XTEAMARTISTS
XL-001e 1/e r3
This is a work of historical fiction. While based on the lives of real people, the portrayal of certain events is fictitious.
Copyright © 2012 xteamartists, llc
Book Dept and colophon and registry code are registered trademarks of xteamartists, llc.
Echo
‘Flickers of light in the night. Always a hell of a sight.’
As the plane slowly pushed through the sky, its pilot could not help but observe the grounds below. ‘What all have I seen?’
Los Angeles. He always thought of its sunshine. New York and its northerly gusts. There were always more lights in New York at night. The unforgettable antique charm of a small town in Italy from several years ago.
On this evening, he found himself in Dallas, Texas, gliding towards its center. Tall buildings occasionally punctured the skyline but the city still remained spacious. The pilot looked down to see children running in the streets. An older woman holding what appeared to be a young infant.
‘I miss my Grandmother.’
The pilot noticed a hospital ahead. Not large nor particularly impressive, but one that plucked a cord from his memory. He thought of his first born, eyes still shut, hand wrapped tightly around his finger. Below, he observed a small ant in a military uniform walking quickly through the parking lot and disappearing beyond the hospital doors.
The military man stood near a window, slowly tracing his steps in the waiting room. Although refusing to sweat, his tension was obvious to anyone who took notice. He sported a moustache that appeared neat and thin. His uniform and body shared one trait—they both displayed few wrinkles.
‘I wonder if they’re going to be OK,’ he pondered.
Down several small hallways, one found a room dedicated to initiating life and nothing more. On this particular evening, a nineteen-year-old woman relentlessly shouted in pain. A nurse restrained the woman’s hands and arms.
‘It’s going to be OK. It’s going to be all right, honey. You’re almost there. You’re almost there. Just keep going. I’m not going anywhere!’
A doctor stood at the epicenter of the woman’s pain and kept stating, ‘Push! Just give me one more solid push!’ A gentle breeze pushed through an open window, felt for an instant. Calming. It was all the motivation she needed.
‘Not until I hear an innocent cry. I have to keep going until I hear an innocent cry.’
She thought of so much, but could remember very little when many years passed. ‘This is the moment,’ she thought. ‘This is the moment. This is the moment. This is the moment!’
Her vision blurred and her hearing became muffled. The nurse relieved the pressure on her hands and arms.
She breathed in the world slowly. It became more gentle.
An innocent cry echoed against the walls.