Author: Faithless Juliet PM
Abortion - choose choice - One lost doctor makes up for a hundred dead babies, right?Rated: Fiction M - English - Spiritual - Words: 554 - Reviews: 37 - Favs: 3 - Published: 05-04-06 - id: 2167123
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Eden:This is the realm of serpents; to be snake charmed, and kissed through the teeth by disaster. Where two nude children run across the tongue of a strange forever-youth - truth dismissed for proof. God, the voice over. The oppression of too much freedom (all save one) and they nicknamed her Eve for her Evil streak, for her curse on us all.
What is the fruit of this vine, ripely falling rose down her throat, it slithers, it conjoins her joints, her flesh, her womb to become fruitful (the choice - the privilege - of life within) blessed with a curse.
"What is this you have done?" Deceived. "And he shall Rule over you!"
Cast out into the desert where her womb grows full while her arms fill with sticks and bramble. Cast over to the Rule; the fool reaching his hands deep inside her to pluck the cry of an infant through the center. And she lays silent in the afterbirth, panting, hot blood on her thighs, and her knees shake.
She is naked and she knows it, (fears it.) Joined in the flesh without knowledge, the same fresh-faced agony of not knowing the consequences of curiosity. He is hard and he shows it, again and again, another and then another. A hundred children. His rule, her curse.
Elsewhere:Knees shake as she fumbles from the car, doors locked - she always checks. She always counts her days, but this time nothing came, no blood across her thighs when she wakes up in the summer heat. No pain, just the fear.
In an over hyped parking lot the hypocrites line the walkways like demons shouting in the name of a lesser Jesus, the unkind deceivers agog with proposition. They'll save your soul with scratchy hands as though on clearance in a microcosm limbo. Make it seem like you've been floundering all your life and just not realized it yet.
They'll turn you clever until you shiver with the sweat of it. Knees still shaking she holds her head up; car keys searing in her hand, blue jeans swiveling across the concrete. The hypocrites spit on her, call her 'murderer' and though their sect preaches 'life' they're the ones who bomb the clinics in retribution.
One lost doctor makes up for a hundred dead babies, right?
She keeps going; this is the right decision for everyone. The taunts become silent. The procedure - a flash of pain, a tear falling, cramps stretching across her abdomen in a twisting roller coaster. The wound. Edges blur and blunt reactions. No one knows, she is anonymous.
She is not ruled; raped, or changed, she regrets having to make the choice, but not the outcome. She thinks of the world that the hypocrites desire, a nation of unwed young mothers,somehow equipoise naturally with the age of their children. Or a violent system of foster care for the ones who aren't adopted by a 'good family' - she believes that 'good' doesn't exist behind closed doors.
She knows she has made the right choice.
a/n: Please choose choice, it doesn't mean that you will or wont, it just means that you have the option. Don't put yourself in the position of desperation. Don't let Your rights be taken away.