The Best Gifts Are Unexpected

The Best Gifts Are Unexpected

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WpMetadataNoticeÚltima publicación dom, may 5, 2024
I stand at Austin's grave just days after the funeral, still asking him the same questions. I'm so upset with him. Rain falls around me, the sky dark. My tears mix with the raindrops on my face. "Why'd you have to leave me now? Why'd you have to leave at all?" I sink to my knees in front of the stone, running my fingers along the letters as sobs wrack my body. "I told you you needed to be more careful and not to drive the way you did. I told you that you were gonna get yourself killed. And look what you did," my voice goes quiet. I place a hand on my abdomen. "There was something I needed to tell you, but now you'll never know."
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In agony I deliver the children of faceless, infertile clients. To them I am nothing more than a vessel, bearing the fruit they so wish to carry within themselves. They love me for my ability, and they hate me for it. This is why I am hidden away here in the Factory where they cannot see my rounded stomach, swollen with their life. When the life inside me is gone, birthed into their eagerly-waiting arms, I will be left with nothing. I will be impregnated again, and again, until my body is ruined and I am sent away. I should question this system, this ritualistic rending of my heart, but I do not-in fact, I volunteered for this job. And now, six babies later, I am afraid to leave. It is better to carry life, even temporarily, than to have never carried it at all.

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