Something written for the 31 days community up at LiveJournal--A community where I use their ideas, but am way too shy/scared to actually properly upload them to LiveJournal. I used the prompt for January 25th to write something I have always wanted to write about.

Harry held the baby in his lap. She screeched without any end, rivaling the continuous high-pitched scream of the winged creature he had shot down only weeks before hand. The memories still burned hotly in his head, from the child-like monsters to the monsters hiding behind an aged woman's face. And this baby, this thing, tried to replace his quiet, patient daughter.

The baby continued to scream despite his quiet hushing and his gently rocking arms. Harry's ears felt like they were going to burst, blood trickling down the sides of his neck, not dissimilar to Lisa. If he could just shut the baby up for a moment, he'd be thankful to whatever fucking "God" there was, demon flying goat or not.

No, it didn't listen. It was just an infant. A screeching, unknowing infant, birthed from a monster that hid behind a young woman that vaguely looked like his daughter. His daughter that would never be coming back because of this baby.

He felt his cold fingers wrap around the baby's warm, weak neck. Fuck the child. This wasn't his Cheryl. He wanted to find Cheryl, not be rewarded with some demon baby. He would die because he took this stupid baby in, he could feel it. And he wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of seeing him die!

The baby's face was red and wrinkled with pained cries, but he didn't care. He squeezed around the softness of the neck, feeling the warmth seep into his cold fingers. Sucking in a breath, he anticipated the snap of the developing spine and the sweet silence that he would have afterward.

Tears streaking down the poor face trickled down to Harry's hands, and he hesitated. The baby opened its eyes as much as it could while still keeping its face contorted, and looked at him with weary blue irises.

He stared into them.

What the hell was he doing?!

With a tortured sob as he released his breath, he let go of the baby, let go of the little girl. It was not the baby's fault she was born. It was never the baby's fault. From what he could gather, the girl was in pain because she existed—perhaps she was mature enough in her tiny brain to know she didn't want to exist for all the evils committed. What a poor, tormented wretch.

And he was one as well.

Coughing and sighing shakily, he stroked the baby's soft light hair, hair that would eventually turn coal black. She felt warmer than normal. Gulping down his own tears, Harry stood up and put her in Cheryl's—her cradle, and disappeared into the bathroom to retrieve the baby thermometer.

He had not named the little girl yet. Part of him didn't want to.

Now he understood that he needed to, for the child's sake, for his sake. He approached the cradle and picked the baby up again, sitting down with her once more in his favorite arm chair.

"You aren't going to like this...Cheryl."