The Lark
Published in

The Lark

Labour Pains


Shrill ringing broke my heavenly slumber. I fumbled blindly for my phone while glancing at the time. 0300 calls mean one of two things: someone’s dead or a client is about to give birth.

It was Ange, Kerry’s patient. The baby is on the way!

I snapped on the bedside lamp and reorientated myself. My pulsating head; a chardonnay memento. My stomach heaved as my feet hit the cold…



The Lark shares fictional short stories and poetry

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Barb Dalton

Mum to 3 humans, 2 fur balls. Kiwi-Canuck. Nursing Instructor by day; Rants, reminisces and rhymes by night.