An Unborn Child

He woke up and washed the burr on his face away. He was still sleepy as always. His girlfriend was to prepare some food for breakfast. As she got out of the bath, she hugged and kissed him. They walked down the hallway and entered the living room. Having a nice breakfast, some things were still wrong. They knew it. They’d been suspecting that the girl was pregnant. It’s a usual thought if an adult girl is not having her period on time. Especially, if the same girl have sex with her boyfriend each night.

“All hell can’t stop us now.”

Things are always fucked up. His old girlfriend used to say “life always screws you up whenever you try to put a meaning to it.”

An unborn child’s life is to screw up his whole life. No one knows what kind of coincidences chain builds up his own identity.

How can you blame a person because he is not acting like a responsible man if no one asked him “do you ever want to exist in this fucking world?” How can you decide on giving birth to an unborn child when he might choose to not come to this world? If a mother is so full of love for her child, why does she only care for her life by having a kid?

An unborn child’s destiny is drawn by his parents, who always talk about “free will”. But this time, he’s lucky. His father knows the truth. He’ll never have his girl give a birth to a child, who’ll occasionally talk about how he wants to die and to be never existed. He knows everything. He knows that he cannot live with these lies. He’d taken a knife and stabbed his girl right through her stomach. The blood was everywhere. The girl was screaming like hell. She had died in his arms. Everything is normal now. Everything is peaceful. An unborn child’s life had already screwed up his whole life. He’d lost everything and won over his little child.

Passion takes over the place. He’d got closed to the unborn child’s shadow and said: “May the force be with you.” Peace is everywhere, in her dead body, in the child’s soul, all over the bloody knife.

Peace always wins... Because we starve for it. No one knows what it means. Every bloody war ends up in peace. This is our lies of running from the truth. “She’s now in peace”. “His body is resting now.”

Making decisions in place of someone else is always what we dream of. Nevertheless, no one gives us that chance and it makes us bloody whores. He suddenly realised the truth and instead of writing “Rest in Peace” on his family’s gravestones, he’d carved these words:

“Rust in Peace”...