There's a child growing inside of me.
In three months time, it will make its way into the world with an ear-deafening scream, wanting to be heard by everyone in the vicinity.
My husband wants this child.
I've watched him interact with young children before.
He's kind and careful. Considerate and gentle.
Wonderful.
He would make a great father.
But I don't want this child.
I don't know if I will be able to be the loving mother that it needs.
Because I can't pretend.
I can't pretend that I don't feel guilty about the little life growing in me.
I can't pretend that I don't feel selfish for creating a new life.
Because people are born to die.
They are bought into this world by their parents, not through choice, to then die, some years later.
And when I lie awake in bed at night, my mind reeling from nightmares of my youth, I have a thought.
This same old thought infects my mind, poisons it.
Calls me names.
Calls me selfish.
For how am I any different to them?
Lives were created, and they ended them.
Isn't that what I am doing too?
Starting a life just to end it.
Aren't I just as bad as them?
My first HG fic, I hoped you enjoyed :)
mysticrox123