Sterile

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Sorry for the shortness!

Chapter 22

The pain ripped through my core, sabotaging my thoughts into those of agony-induced memories. I dug the knife into my skin harder; bring spouts of blood that were flashing across my flesh like scarlet paint across an ivory canvas. I looked down at my stomach in disgust, seeing the red slashes made me want to do it even more, until I can see the very organs that make my body keep going through these impossible days. I wanted to see my insides, yes, but also what was supposed to be under those organs, what was supposed to be as small as a peanut, and who was curled into a little ball, safe and sound inside my uterus. A baby.

A baby that was never to be born.

That small sliver of life was supposed to make mine worth living for, to make it actually bearable to wake up every morning and know that I was forever alone and unwanted by the people who should have the most. This small, innocent child was supposed to be the only thing that I would have left of my beloved.

I knew it was a long shot considering we weren’t together all that long, but I still hoped against hope that he left me something that we made together, and that I would have something that proved that he was actually here at one point, and not just some figment of my imagination that I made up to make myself actually happy and loved for once. But that small hope was bitterly destroyed today by one small drop of blood.

I know what you’re thinking, that I had slept with so many guys since then that it could have been any one of theirs and not Darian’s, but I was careful, and made them use double protection and never let them cum inside of me. But even that was in vain, because today has proven that nothing lives inside of me, that nothing is growing inside my beat up body.

I looked down once more at my stomach, and imagined that I was round with the radiance of life, and had the glow of new birth. But in reality, what I saw was only red, angry slashes across a boney set of ribs and a swollen stomach. I have lost weight, but have become bloated from the lack of food that I always seem to forget to eat. That bloating, though, was something I thought instead was a child, but was tricked by a mind so drunken with too much hope.

People say hope never dies, and will bring you happiness in the end, as long as you hold on tight to it with both hands. But what people never admit is that sometimes hope is so beaten down, so poisoned by hatred and greed that it is buried deep inside a graveyard, inside a graveyard that is always in the back of a persons mind.

Hope, for people like me, has a tombstone right next to Dreams, and is a neighbor to Happiness and Good Fortune. All rotting away in the depths of an abused mind, and hidden in a fog of condemnation.

We, in the end, live in that condemnation that others have bestowed upon us. We do not always deserve it, but nor are we ever innocent of it either. People like me live in this fog, never finding our way out. Always twisting and turning, trying to find a way to peace. Peace, from other’s sin’s that hang above our strangled minds and wraps around our battered bodies. The same battered bodies that are the symbol of life, that we have lived through the torcher of every day, yet, the scars on the inside is what hurts the most, the ones that are the most painful.

On our mind, on our soul, and in my barren body.

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