Greenwoods Embrace

The battered sign reading "Greenwood - Pop. 412" barely clung to its post, swaying in the breeze like a tired old man. I gripped the handlebars of my Harley tighter, the familiar rumble a comfort as I cruised into town. Greenwood. It was smaller than the pictures online suggested, a cluster of quaint buildings nestled between rolling gree...

The battered sign reading "Greenwood - Pop. 412" barely clung to its post, swaying in the breeze like a tired old man. I gripped the handlebars of my Harley tighter, the familiar rumble a comfort as I cruised into town. Greenwood. It was smaller than the pictures online suggested, a cluster of quaint buildings nestled between rolling green hills. The air smelled clean, a mix of pine and damp earth, a welcome change from the city smog I'd left behind. Maybe, just maybe, this was the place I could finally breathe. Find my footing. I spotted the Greenwood Hotel, a two-story Victorian with peeling paint and a porch that sagged in the middle. It had character, at least. "Home sweet temporary home," I muttered, parking the bike in front. Inside, the lobby was dimly lit, smelling of lemon polish and something vaguely floral. An older woman with kind eyes and a warm smile stood behind the check-in desk. "You must be Michaela," she said, her voice a gentle hum. "I'm Marry, the owner. Welcome to Greenwood." "Thanks," I replied, returning her smile. "Just call me Mike." Marry handed me a key attached to a heavy brass fob. "Room 203. Top of the stairs, turn left. Let me know if you need anything at all." As I climbed the creaky staircase, I noticed a girl sitting on one of the steps, her head buried in her hands. She had long, fiery red hair that cascaded down her back. "Hey," I said softly, "you okay?" She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. "Yeah, I'm fine." Her voice was barely a whisper. I recognized her from one of the pictures Marry had sent me, Janice, her daughter. "You sure? You don't look so good." She sighed, "Just... morning sickness. It's been hitting me hard lately." She looked down at her stomach. "Four more months to go." "Rough," I murmured, understanding flashing in my eyes. I continued to my room, the encounter with Janice sticking with me. Greenwood seemed peaceful enough, but there was an undercurrent, something unspoken. The number of visibly pregnant women I had already seen was more than you’d see in any other town, even back home. Room 203 was small but clean, with a view of the town square. I dropped my duffel bag on the bed and walked over to the window, gazing out at the quiet scene. A few people strolled along the sidewalks, chatting and laughing. A young couple walked hand in hand, the woman’s belly swollen with child. It was idyllic, almost too perfect. I felt a sense of curiosity wash over me, and I knew I needed to understand why Greenwood was the way it was, and what part I was meant to play in it. What will I do to settle into my new life here?

I decide to stretch my legs and take a walk around town, hoping to get a better feel for the place. The air is crisp and cool, carrying the scent of blooming lilac from the gardens that line the streets. As I stroll along Main Street, I can't help but notice them – more women, their bellies round with life, in various stages of pregnancy....

I decide to stretch my legs and take a walk around town, hoping to get a better feel for the place. The air is crisp and cool, carrying the scent of blooming lilac from the gardens that line the streets. As I stroll along Main Street, I can't help but notice them – more women, their bellies round with life, in various stages of pregnancy. It's hard to ignore. "Is it just that time of the month?" I wonder aloud, half-joking, half-serious. It seems improbable. Is it something in the water? Some strange, unspoken agreement? The curiosity gnaws at me. Up ahead, I spot a diner, its neon sign buzzing invitingly. "Might as well grab some food," I think, my stomach rumbling in agreement. The bell above the door jingles as I step inside, the smell of greasy burgers and freshly brewed coffee filling the air. I scan the room, taking in the checkered floors and vinyl booths. In a corner booth, three women are laughing, their pregnant bellies pressed against the table. I settle into a booth near the window, and a waitress approaches with a warm smile. "Hello, I'm Lisa, I'll be your waitress today," she says, pulling out her notepad. I can't help but notice that she's one of the few women I've seen so far who isn't pregnant. "Hey Lisa, I'm Mike." I smile back, ordering a cheeseburger and fries. As she scribbles down my order, I can't help but broach the subject that's been on my mind. "So, I'm new in town, and I couldn't help but notice... there seem to be a lot of pregnant women here." Lisa chuckles, her pen hovering over the notepad. "Oh, you noticed that, huh? Yeah, it's kind of our thing." I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Your thing? What does that mean?" She leans in slightly, lowering her voice. "Well," she says, "it's hard to explain. It's just... Greenwood is a special place. We take care of our own. And, well, babies are a blessing, aren't they?" Her answer leaves me with more questions than answers. It feels rehearsed, like a line she's delivered a hundred times.

The cheeseburger arrives, a greasy tower of beef, cheese, and pickles. I devour it, trying to process Lisa's cryptic response. "It's kind of our thing." What kind of thing, exactly? The question swirls in my mind as I pay the bill and step back out into the twilight. The walk back to the Greenwood Hotel is quiet, the air growing cooler. ...

The cheeseburger arrives, a greasy tower of beef, cheese, and pickles. I devour it, trying to process Lisa's cryptic response. "It's kind of our thing." What kind of thing, exactly? The question swirls in my mind as I pay the bill and step back out into the twilight. The walk back to the Greenwood Hotel is quiet, the air growing cooler. The lilac scent is stronger now, almost cloying. As I climb the creaky stairs to my room, I can't shake the feeling that I've stumbled into something strange, something that runs deeper than just a small town's quirks. Back in room 203, I decide to distract myself with my art. I unpack my paints and canvases, setting up a small makeshift studio on the desk by the window. The blank canvas feels like a challenge, an invitation to make sense of the chaos in my head. I begin to sketch, letting my hand move freely, capturing the image of the pregnant women of Greenwood, their bellies glowing in the moonlight. Hours pass, and I lose myself in the rhythm of brushstrokes and colors. The painting slowly comes to life, a surreal portrait of a town teeming with expectant mothers. Just as I'm adding the finishing touches, there's a soft knock on the door. I set down my brush, startled. "Who is it?" "It's Janice," a muffled voice replies. I open the door to find Janice standing in the hallway, her face flushed. "Hey, Mike," she says, "Dinner will be ready in about an hour. Mom wanted me to remind you." "Oh, thanks, Janice," I say, smiling. "I appreciate it." Her eyes drift past me, landing on the painting. "Wow, that's... that's really something." "It's my thing," I say, shrugging. "Would you like me to draw you? It's no charge." Janice's face lights up. "Really? Cool!" I gesture to the chair by the desk. "Have a seat." As I begin to sketch her, I can't help but notice the serene expression on her face. "So, when are you due?" "About four more months," she replies, "I'm not keeping it, though. I'm giving it up for adoption. To someone who can't have children." "That's... that's really generous of you," I say, impressed. "What does your boyfriend think about that?" Janice looks at me in confusion, then smiles. "There's no father." "Oh," I stammer, surprised. "I'm sorry, I just assumed..." "It's okay," she says, her smile widening. "I'm still a virgin." I stare at her, speechless. "Then... how are you pregnant?" Janice shrugs, her eyes twinkling. "It's the way of things in Greenwood."