Widerwille

A man, and his wife of seven years. Courted and romanced to perfection.

A ballooning belly, a bun in the oven. All is well until she begins to show.

Is it disgust? Is it fear? Is it a projection of worse, underlying feelings, an echo of his prolonged intimacy with bleach, or some insidious hereditary disorder?

The narrator does not know what compels him to kick the baby out of Julianne, but he has six months before she delivers.

Accompanying him are his labyrinthine diversions of the mind, the cacophony of twenty-thousand netizens, a man haunted by the spectral presence of his deceased lover, his mercurial sense of humour, and, hopefully, you.