It's such a pain to go outside. The streets are filthy, covered in trash, obstructing the view of
them. And then there are the lying of more sacks of trash, walking about, not even thinking of what
they have done and what they could do. There are bowing beggars to the side of the street, murmuring
and holding out old tins. They could do something, oh yes, they could, other than wallow. And while I
was walking by one, one grabs ahold of the end of my jacket. HOW DARE HE. What a disgusting piece of
filth, clinging onto my jacket, like a child, thinking that I would even spare a cent to hi – and before I
knew it, I had reacted violently towards him. I had kicked him off of me and spat at him, proclaiming he
should stay on the ground. With a huff I then turn around, my anger still burning red, and decided to
walk back home deciding I have had enough of this bullcrap.
The sound is horrible, whining, cracking and a sickly squelching. It's a continuous sound,
repeating over, and over, and over. But that is not what I am focused on. I am focused on the parasite in
my stomach. I gain nothing from it, only it feeds of my nutrients and depriving my body of basic needs. It
is not a baby, and never will be. In the end it's just going to be like everything else, a leech on planet
earth. Depriving it of its needs like it is doing to me. I shall not rid of it or else I will lose my home.
Mother has threatened me if I were to not keep it, I will be fired, and homeless. And with her being my
boss it is a given truth. So, I shall not rid of the thing, but she did not say I had to keep it after.
A sickening crunch resonates throughout the room, a body ripping apart and being put back
together, over, and over, and over. Continuous repetitive noise, one that is not wanted. Buzzing
accompanies it, like little bees worming its way inside my skull, wanting to burrow its offspring in it.
Disgusting.
Its growing inside of me, my body moving with the parasite growth.
They say they worry about me, I question why, they say it's because they love me. Lies, lies
everywhere, crawling over my skin, making me feel queasy, and with frogs in my stomach. I can already
taste it already, the stomach acid tasting tart. I hurl inside the container, hyperaware of what's going on
around me. What lying despicable creatures.
Where has it gone? It's gone. I don't feel it anymore. There is so, SO much blood. I can smell it, it
gives me a head and stomach ache. My stomach hurts. Every-where, but no-where at the same.
Is it my fault? It can't but it must. My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, my faul - no, no, no, no, no, no.
It's not MY fault, is it? It can't be, I can't do anything wrong. I can't fail, and I never will. It is IT'S fault. It
did this to spite me, it went away because it hated me. And I hated it. Good riddance it is gone, no me it
shall be. Failure.
" Wha...t a... fa-...failure."
( P.S. - This is not my point of view of the world, please don't take it as such. I love babies, I want to have children in the future. I just wanted a story that could possibly shock the reader, and would want the main character to die a horrible death.)
