*Under Editing*

Chapter One - Stained Heart

I looked down at the woman lying down in the bed beside me. Her cries of pain had subsided, and her expression was one of sorrow when she laid her eyes on her baby. Her mind baffled at the visual trauma that lay before her. There was no one else to look at, for her. There were no more moans, no machines, it was just her. No one could save her now.

Closing one door to open another, I knew I did all I could do to help. For me, putting the past behind wasn't easy. Though, I knew this is all I'd ever dreamed of doing - Midwifery.

The bitter taste of two deaths mounted my tongue swallowing darkness within. My eyes resembled loss as I continued to work.

Minutes had passed and I sat silent, still and wondering. Remembering the reason of why I came into these slums. To help those less fortunate than me, who have nothing to eat, nothing to drink, absolutely nothing. This is why I studied to be a midwife. Fair enough, I knew I couldn't save everyone, but I did my best! Becoming philosophical, I managed to pick myself up from where I was once drowned. Knowing I had been in their position before, I carried on.

When I was but fifteen years old, I spent a whole year imprisoned within the four walls of a hospital. Each night tossing and turning longing for someone to help me. I spoke to no one, lying in bed with no pleasant thoughts the cycle continued over and over till I escaped. The cold wind would bite at my face drawing the moisture out, just like my heart. After my recovery I vowed to help anyone and everyone in whatever way I could and I did.

My next patient was two floors down; I did what I had to do and ran off, down to their floor to assist yet another person. The dust maneuvered the ground like ants. Having so many people in this hospital each day made it impossible for it to stay clean more importantly, we didn't have the resources.

The already low ceiling felt it was caving down on me as I progressed down to the next floor, a feeling I felt every time I went this way. Worming my way down the corridor, patients looked at me in desperate cries for help. Their eyes never leaving my face, yet they spoke no words.

Every day I was hounded by the potent poisonous smell that hung of the walls of the building, every door was in desperate need of repainting. Paying no attention to anyone else, I buried myself six feet under with my own worries and stress of everyday life.

Reaching out one arm to open the door, someone beats me to it. A man is lazily holding out the door for me, which didn't seem to happen often in this dump. Giving the expected "thank you" I jump out of my own thoughts and snap back into reality.

His face and arms were completely submerged in tattoos, not just a canvas of random splurges but one recurring theme of a skeleton. A skeleton injected on to his living skin, a layer of jet black ink covering his face and arms. His presence bought with him an eerie sensation which gave me a chilling reaction. Bluntly staring away from the sore sight I wait for him to go past so I can go through the door.

"That's the first time someone like you said thanks to me."

"What do you mean?" I question. He laughs at my confused face; I come to the realization he's being sarcastic. Echoing his laughter I say "thank you" once more and go back to reaching my patient.

Suddenly stopping until I hear his voice again,

"You're a doctor here right?" he asks.

"Midwife, why?" I reply.

"You ask a lot of questions don't you. We're raising money for the hospital tonight, downstairs. Five o'clock if you wanna come? Going for drinks with everyone later." His kindness knocked me of my perch a little.

I graciously smile but know what words will leave my lips next.

"I'm Muslim." I explain.

Raising my eyebrows and widening my lips to indicate that I certainly won't be drinking. His face quickly portrayed the expression I had showcased earlier, his expression seemingly implying "What's she doing here?".

Managing to play his cool, he persistently asks me once more,"We'll go for a coffee then?"

His smile elongated the bone like structures he'd permanently stamped on his face. I began to notice the weird dark and light contours stamped on his face yet still having admiration for the artwork done on his once bare face.

I nod signifying yes to his offer and begin to re-make my journey to the room.

If I was still in England I wouldn't take a second look at this man who haunted me at first sight but since he knew English, he brought with him a homely feeling. Something I had been longing for so, I grasped the opportunity and the evening's plans had been arranged.

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