Esoteric Life (mugshots)

Esoteric Life - Abortion

PART I 12-year-old Emily Clarkson never meant to fall into his arms.
But with the firing at her job, and the rejection from her parents — both caused by her drug addictions; Emily just wanted someone to console her broken being.

What started with a hug and gentle, understating words, turned into Emily welcoming his into the new apartment.
Then bed.

When he reached across her breath for the tv remote — pausing the avid screen of Netflix, and whispering in arousing things. His hot breath on Emily's neck. How could she help but twist on the couch and grab his neck? Welcoming his kisses; a mouth that offered healing from the cold, cruel world in contrast to his warm touch.

Ah, Bae
Both shaking with need and want — she just fell into him. And before Emily knew, he was inside her — both panting, and pant-less.

The feeling he brought over her was oh-so addicting, that she found herself in his arms every day.
A need.
A distraction.
A want.
A new addiction that made more than Emily's head swim.

He made her forget parent's cruelty. The empty bank. His chest made Emily forget everything but him.
Even condoms.

The day Emily's scale reached ten more.
When the two fingers don't fit around her waist no more.
When bleeding is replaced by sickness and hunger.

I'm pregnant
Emily text.
And he never returned.

His finger marks seemed to have imbedded themselves into Emily's arms. His waist — ever in hers.
After three days the addiction is so strong — the need is need. To do without is death from withdrawal.

Emily would do absolutely anything just to have his lips crashing against her own again.

The Center.
Hands trembling, Emily flicks a wet spot off the name above white paper. His bed is so worth it — so.
She sighs.
And puts on blue smocks.
Smiles fearfully as a nurse holding sedate.
Glimmering tools — sliding into her. Soon that will be Jason's going into me again.

Pain.
Against all reassurance — murdering her child burnt like the flames of hell she was sure were waiting for her.
Emily found him with another at the bar — and now she's only left with his scented sheets; and the ghost of a baby forever floating above them.

PART II Twenty-two-year-old Jason Hansen knew he got her pregnant. It's one of the things he and his friends do for fun — keep a tally of how many girls they've fucked and left with their mark.

He figures its keeping the abortion clinic funded welly — thus keeping his Father, the head doctor, employed; Jason's mother is happy, sister happy — his life good.

How many texts did Jason get with the 'I'm pregnant' message? He laughed at the for-sure tears hidden beneath them, and kept every text for evidence to show his homies.

And then Lexi comes home — pregnant.
Steven's been with his sister.
Dad's set an appointment for the abortion. Mom swears it'll all be over before anyone can know.

Jason's sited wants him there. Even with dad between her legs with the vacuum — Jason holds his sited's white hand.

Red splatters against Jason's mouth mask.
His sister's moans deaf — he watches arms and feet dissect from a squirreling image.
Hell, is it's mouth open? Begging for mercy, like the woman had, around his cock.

In the waiting room — though Jason's hands have long shed the bloody gloves; he cannot help but see red drops still there. Do fetuses bleed like humans? Do woman bleed, after he leaves them to cover their nakedness?
Is he bleeding now?

PART III Sixteen-year-old Lexi Hansen grunts as the knife slides off her wrists.
Biting a lip, he quickly squeezes the blood into a plastic container. Some of it drops onto the white tile, and Lexi swears as she has to cut a tenth strip in her arm.

Slightly shaking, and red marks covered in wet circles that failed to wash away the blood on her t-shirt; Lexi rises from the bathroom, socked feet sneaking through the dark of her parent's house.

Doubling over, Lexi groans at the pain between her thighs.
Yes, Steven had fucked her harder than he'd ever done yesterday — but that and having just had an abortion we're toiling with the inside of her body.

Lexi brushed a curls of blond hair from her forehead, giving it way to the moonlight — lit breeze.
A light flickered in her neighbor's backyard, and the dog barked fiercely.

Now or never Lexi prostrated herself on the deck, folding her hand before head as she poured the blood into the lawn.
An offering to the moon.

Please, Lexi sobbed beseeching tears, take my blood and use it to pay for the blood of my child's that I knowingly spilt. Oh god of the night, you see me awake morning and night. You know I only live to cut myself — that my baby's blood might be payed for the... murder of my child. I am more guilty than my father, who's held the scissors and saw... my... child's face.
Disconnected from my body.
Guilt forever haunts me.

PART IV Seventeen-year-old Steven O'Hard ground his teeth in frustration, running hands through his hair. She had not answered his pleading texts all day.

Perhaps he'd been too rough in his punishment last night. But why the hell had she done it?!

Without even telling Steven, she had gone to The Center.
Without him.
Taken matters into her delicate palms.
And disposed of the child.

His child.
Wasn't Steven's own seed that went into her?
Hadn't he taken part — dancing as two to make one?

Perhaps it was wrong, to want her to have kept the child for nine months inside her. Steven knew, if only she had, that he would have taken full responsibility and ownership of the child — releasing his girlfriend if only she would have sacrificed nine fucking months for the baby.

Steven had mother created another human before — and the overwhelming sense of connection he already had was unspeakable.

No, had had a connection.
But Steven learned only after the abortion.
So he was feeling connected with the dead.

Of the fetus was even human. Had a soul.
Oh, should he abandon her now?
But Steven's already abandoned his baby.

PART V Baby
Whatever did I do wrong, for you to hurt me like this?
Why are you doing this to me?

That hurts.
I can't get away.

Mama! Mama! Why can you not hear my crying?
You are the only voice I've heard — you are the one who's supposed to understand mine.

Don't let them touch me; protect me, Mama!
It's not true! Can't you feel me twisting? I'm alive!

Mama, oh Mama, oh the pain!
It hurts it hurts!
The salt is drying my skin — I can't move.
My feet are missing — the pain making me breathless.

They've stolen my hands and now I can't beat against your stomach.

One last call as the iron wraps around my lung — save me, Mama. Don't listen to them.

Save me Mama, my tears are just like yours.

Save me Mama, Mu voice is crying like yours.

REPORTER "I understand that murdering something that's had a heartbeat sense week two is a way for you to escape shame of an unwanted bath in life.
But murder is never an excuse. Never right. And every person knows this — for murdering a baby never brings healing, a salve, to what we thought would be a broken life before the abortion.
I sympathize with your struggles.
But murder only haunts you forever.
Your life is now more tormented without the baby, than with your baby.
There is always an answer better than murdering an innocent child. "

"Because you are my helper, I sing for joy in the shadow of your wings."
-Psalm 63:7