I lay on my back in the middle of the dim lit room. My hair pools around my head, my arms dead at my sides. I'm so weak... so very, very weak. My child is taking a large toll on me. There is no way I'm going to survive her... my third baby. My only daughter.
I hate my father for doing this to me.
I never once got to hold Paxton or his brother. Never even got to name my first child! "Point Man". I'd personally love to vaporize the idiot that named him such. Rage fills me, and I manage to lift my head and clench my fists.
I hope I see daddy and his research team in Hell... They will spend every second of eternity paying for hurting me and my babies. Every single second. I will kill them over and over again. Torture them to the point where they want to die.
I am going to put them through what they put me through, and I am going to enjoy every second of it. I smile at the thought of this.
Suddenly, the smile is ripped from my face as a contraction seizes my body. My head drops again and I scream, arching my back as renewed pain races through my body. These contractions are by far the worst. There's barely minutes between them... she's close. I can feel her clawing through my womb, and it frightens me. She's so strong. I look down and sure enough, her tiny fingers are visible through my monstrous womb.
It's so distorted and evil looking, yet I feel nothing but love for my daughter. I really hope my sons can take care of her when I'm gone. Raise her the way I cannot and couldn't with them. I would've loved to have raised my babies, raised them to manhood normally. Maybe even married and had them normally. But I never got that chance.
After what seems to be decades, the pain is over and my daughter and I are separated. But not before I see my eldest son put bullets through his brother's forehead.
"NO!" I want to scream. "DON'T FIGHT! WE'RE MEANT TO BE A FAMILY!" I'm unable to even open my lips though. I can only express my fear through my labored breaths. I'm so numb now... so numb and so cold. I can feel myself dying.
My eldest walks forward and picks up his sister. Wraps her in a blanket, assesses her and then walks to my side. We stare into each other's eyes. There's a question in mine and a promise in his. I see it and I smile, feeling peaceful for the first time in years. She's in good hands... my babies are going to be fine after all.
"Thank you," I whisper as I fade away.