BLOOD OR TEARS

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I sat there waiting. In the dark silence. It was as if I was waiting for a light that was never going to come. It had been three days since I had had a good night sleep. Three days since I received the news. Something was growing inside me. Someone was growing inside of me. Without warning. Without the least bit of caution I had found myself in a situation I was never meant to encounter. What was I going to do? What would I tell my mother? After all the sacrifices she had made to get me through school. Not to mention the tempers that would flare if my step- father were to find out.

I couldn’t afford the luxury of a good night sleep. My thoughts and dreams had been invaded by the pictures of babies. Suddenly every woman on the street seemed pregnant. Every man I met was spending time with his little ones. It was as though life has ceased to exist in singles. There were doubles everywhere. Flocking versions of “mini-moms” and “mini-dads”. Every child seemed to bear a striking resemblance to the person they were walking with. I was no longer at peace. I was about to make a life changing decision that could change the course of my life for eternity.

Suddenly I was sweating on a cold November night. It was raining and all I could see were tears and blood. As if a symbolic sign of the aftermath of the choice I would make. If I kept this little person growing inside of me I was going to be a mother. If I chose to deny the world a chance to experience the pleasures that would come with little one’s existence, I would be a murderer. Tears versus blood, which would I choose?

Getting out of bed, I switched on the light and stood in front of the mirror. Was I growing fat? Were my breasts bigger than usual? Were people going to notice? I was afraid that the whole world knew my secret. I had to act fast.

“I have to confess….. No…. I can’t do this to myself and my parents. I have a future to take care of.” Having a baby would mean kissing my future goodbye. It would mean making the same mistake many young girls make. Everyone would judge me. They all thought I was Miss Perfect. Many mothers often compared their daughters to me. I was the girl who was always put together, but was that about to change? How could I remain sane when I lived in fear of the unknown?

~ Welcome to poems  and stories ~

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