Post-Birth Abortion

My best friend Megan is so beautiful. All of the boys in school drop everything they’re doing the moment she walks into the room, hoping that she will come and sit by them. She makes the honor roll every time grades come out, and she makes the grades so effortlessly. When I go over to her house, her parents always greet her with a loving, “Hello, honey. How was your day?” I feel like I’m going to puke every time I go over there, because it seems like I’m in the living reincarnation of “Leave It to Beaver.” At any moment I’m expecting Wally and the Beav to come over and play a joke on their sister. Yet, as seemingly fake as her home life seems to me, I’d rather have a family like hers over anything else she possesses.1

I guess I would be considered an average 14 year old girl from a small mountain town in Colorado. My mother sells real estate for a living, which allows her to never give her mouth a break from talking on the phone to take a moment out of her day to talk to me. My mother and I have absolutely nothing in common, and I have a feeling that we never will. My father, on the other hand, is one who seems to have too much in common with me. Even though his job as the police chief of our town seems like it would take up the bulk of his time, he is always able to set aside part of his day for our quality time together. My mom sees my daddy with me all the time, but she always just peeks in for a moment, turns her head, and walks away like she could care less. The only thing she’s ever given me is the knowledge to know of how not to be a mother. All she had to do was turn off that phone for a single minute, so I could tell her that I loved her. Even if she doesn’t hear me, I’m going to sit right beside her later tonight and tell her.2

I woke up this morning from school, still feeling sore from last night. The funny thing is that my daddy is never aggressive with me when he comes in for his nightly “talking,” as he calls it. But, my body is just not capable of withstanding him on top of me for more than a few minutes. I don’t bleed all the time, but last night was an exception, and daddy said it was just God showing him my beauty even more. I knew not to ask any questions and just let him get through so I could go to bed so I could get a good night’s sleep before my Algebra test the next day. 3

School was nothing short of ordinary today, as usual. Mrs. Hall made me get in front of class and read the note I got caught passing to Megan in 3rd period. It wasn’t that big of a deal, because it didn’t say anything incriminating on anyone— just basically a boredom note. After the final bell rang at 3:30, I was free from the prison known as 9th grade, ready to walk straight to another. My mother for some reason doesn’t like Megan, so she’s never allowed to come over. I think it has something to do with the way my father looks at her, but I’m not sure. My house is before Megan’s, so we walked together to mine, gave each other a hug, and said we loved one another and that we would call them later. I walked in the door, and saw daddy watching Judge Judy, while simultaneously trying to read the newspaper. He glanced over at me while I dropped my backpack by the door with those slightly coffee-brown stained teeth, gave a smile, and stood up from his recliner as I walked towards my bedroom.4

It was obvious to me that my family wasn’t your stereotypical dysfunctional family. I knew we had our problems, but what family doesn’t? I’m smart enough to know that what daddy does to me isn’t right, yet being a young teenage girl going through adolescence, I look at it from the perspective that some attention is better than no attention. All the boys at school are too busy looking at Megan instead of me, so I’m not getting anything from there, except jealousy, and my mom isn’t giving me any attention, for damn sure. I knew this would all change one of these days. But it seemed like unless I would speak up, take action with my own hands, I would go through the rest of my life lonely and depressed.5

After daddy got him an afternoon snack, courtesy of me, I got to work on my schoolwork. But there was something strange going on in my head on this rather ordinary day. No matter what I tried to do, turning on music, watching senseless MTV dating shows, or writing in my journal, it was impossible for me to concentrate on my homework. It’s possible that I was just going through an adolescent boredom spell, but there was something different about this time. I thought back to what I was thinking about earlier, how I am always afraid I’ll end up lonely and depressed for the rest of my life. A girl my age dreams of getting married to Mr. Right, walking down that aisle, pink flower bouquet in hand, while wearing a gorgeous white, lace wedding dress. The constant thought of this was weighing heavily on my mind. I’m 14! I should be thinking about going to the mall, eating some frozen yogurt, while flirting with the boys in the arcade. But, it’s not hard to realize that I’m not an average teenager; I’ve grown up way too fast and lived far too hard of a life than a girl my age should have to. My daily worries should be about homework, boys, the way my hair looks, who’s going to give me a ride to the football game this Friday night, and other things like that. Instead, I worry about how long my daddy is going to spend with me today when I get home from school, if he’ll come into my room while I’m sleeping at night, and if my mom will ever do anything about it. This isn’t normal. I want to be loved, and maybe if I had that, maybe none of this would be happening to me. I decided right then and there that this life wasn’t the life I wanted. It was time for me to become a woman, and do what no man is able to do, and give birth to a new life. My decision, as scary and confused as it could possibly make me, was final. It was time for me to actually feel alive for once.6

First, I needed to come up with a plan of action: how was I going to kill them, how was I going to hide the body, and what was I going to do afterwards? God, what in the hell was I thinking? The two people that brought me into this world, who gave me a home, made sure I had food in my stomach, and well, that’s about it. Yet, it still hadn’t clicked in my mind yet that killing them was my final plea. What made this day any different then yesterday, when daddy fucked me as if I were his daily chore, and then mom came home, saw me crying, and just said that dinner was on the stove? I can’t explain it, but I guess it’s just one of those things where everyone has their limit, and everyone has their breaking point, and this was mine— I needed to be loved. Unfortunately, there was no love in my house, and this was my only solution on how to find it. Maybe if I killed my parents, that would give me that feeling of passion, giving me at least that love for myself that I’ve always wanted, showing me that to save myself, I would do something so insane, so unthinkable, just for my own sanity.7

After just going over random thoughts in my head, I threw down my homework and decided that I would wait until tonight to do it. My daddy had to work the night shift, so I would go for mom first. The plan was simple: wait until my mom was in bed asleep, go down to the kitchen, grab the sharpest butcher knife we had, and ever so softly, slide it into her heart, piercing the organ, releasing the love in the form of her blood. To me it would be a great pleasure having my daddy come home to see his wife all bloodied on their bed, hopefully giving him memories of how many times he’s left me looking the same way. I knew it would be quite easier killing my daddy, because all I would do is grab one of his pistols, walk in sneakily behind him as he beholds his wife, let him turn around, then shoot him in several non-fatal areas, mainly the crotch. Then I’d let him slowly suffer the way I’ve been suffering for the past 14 years. I truly thought I’d be letting him off easy by doing it this way. 8

Around 6 o’clock tonight, my mom came home just as daddy was leaving for work. They didn’t even give each other a kiss goodbye, or say that they loved one another. I wonder if they are missing love in their lives as much as I was? I decided to go down stairs and watch television in the living room, just to see if my mom would say anything to me. Even though I knew I was going to kill her later on that night, I still wanted to see her, because I knew it would be the last time I ever did. 9

“How was work today, mom?” She glanced towards me with a look that could freeze the boiling water on the stove.10

“Busy,” she said in a firing reply. “Did you get your homework done?” My final attempt to just try and have a conversation with her was over. She’s such a cold person living; I wondered how cold she’d be when she died? 11

After I ate dinner, I went back up to my room, laid on my bed, and just thought about what I was planning to do in a just a few short hours. Every thought that could enter my mind did: What the in the hell was I about to do? Should I go through with it? Will Megan still be my friend? Will God forgive me for this? Does God exist and should I even care about being judged? How will I go on living after they’re both dead? Am I willing to live in jail for the rest of my life? Should I just say that it was self-defense? Is this really the only way to escape from this?12

I was a total wreck. This was way too much for anyone, especially a girl my age. But my mind was made up, and I had to go through with this. About 11:45 that night, I went downstairs and picked up the knife out of the dishwasher, walking slowly in my toe socks, trying not to wake up my mom. Right when I picked it up, the reality of what was about to happen kicked in, and the tears started flowing like a quick, springtime rain. After I sat down for about 5 minutes, let the tears dry up, I crept up to my parent’s room, only to behold my mom lying asleep on her bed, beautiful as ever. She seemed like she was in such peace, and nothing in her daily life affected her. I suddenly wondered if I looked like I was at peace while I was sleeping like she did. The tears started coming back, but I fought back the snot and sniffling, so I wouldn’t wake her up. I bent over and kissed her on her forehead, said goodbye softly, raised the knife, and slammed it down into her heart. My mom jerked, with a piercing yell that echoed throughout the room. I started to freak out; the blood was a red avalanche, rolling down her white nightgown. Her screams were terrifying me, so I reached over for a pillow, put it over her face, while stabbing a few more times. Eventually, the screams were silenced and her jerking body went relaxed. My mother was dead.13

I pulled the pillow off from over her face and just stared at her. Just as she looked minutes before while she was dreaming, she looked right at peace again. My tears started diluting the blood that looked as if she just took a bath in, and I kneeled down and just started to talk to her. I told her everything I ever wanted to. After about 20 minutes of letting out my grievances, another strange feeling lurked into my chaotic mind. The reality of what I had just done was slowly sneaking up on me, and I didn’t know exactly what to do. But what I did know was that I missed my mother. 14

The only thing a child really needs in this life is motherly love, something I have no idea what that feels like. Maybe if I knew what that was, maybe daddy wouldn’t rape me every day, and I wouldn’t have to live in this constant state of being numb to everything. Why couldn’t she just love me? Why couldn’t we just have a loving mother and daughter relationship? I glanced over at her face one more time, saw the peace she was in, and finally realized that I needed to go and get some sleep. I kissed her one last time, walked into the bathroom, and grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills. I swallowed the whole bottle, about 20 or so, laid down, and said one last prayer to God. “God, take care of my mama. Tell her I’ll see her soon.” 15

Love,16

Anna17