if i had a time machine I would go back to when your mother was 7 months pregnant with you, and, after making small talk with her after we had run into each other at a supermarket, become acquaintances upon an exchange of phone numbers, and over a couple of weeks of small talk she asks if I would like to hook up. Dumbfounded, I ask “aren’t you married? isn’t it unhealthy this late into the pregnancy?”, but she insists, and I reluctantly agreed upon the date, hoping that I might get something out of it, and I most likely wouldn’t have to talk to her again. The night goes fine enough, she didn’t perform particularly well, but I wasn’t into it either, so I shrugged it off. As I lay in her bed, husband presumed off to work far away, I begin to regain my composure in a brief moment of recollection surrounding the events that have transpired up until this point, and the clarity hits me like a truck. It was you. It was you who brought me here, the reason I even came to this point in the first place, and now that I’ve got the bait where I want it, the potency of my hatred only boils- an uncontrollable rage that boils over the edges from holding back for so long and pushing it within my subconscious mind.
I lightly lift the blanket off me, get up to my bed, and walk up to her side of the bed. I stay silent, too focused on my contemplation to even notice my breath becoming stronger and more unsteady the longer I hold these rivers of lava in my head. After long last towards the peak of lucidity and an inability to control myself, I stare hard at her pregnant belly, clench my fist, and drive it straight into what was once you. She cries out in a voice so loud I could’ve sworn it’d damaged my eardrums, only to vomit blood profusely over her bedsheets. The feelings I held, staring at what my work accumulated to, had yet to subside, and I was no longer able to view her as human- the velvet streams pouring on every side of that bed became to me only concrete matter of the culmination of these events, and her terrifed, shaking body reduced to a skeleton with its surface wrought with whoredom. I’d done it. I was seeing what I was meant to see, what I was brought here to do. This was it. Though her cries rung throughout the walls, piercing my ears, it felt like I’d never been in a more still, unchanging room in my life.