It's Not Easy To Be Me



The day began like any other day.

She woke up an hour before the alarm clock was set to go off. As she got out of the bed, she lazily yawned and stretched her arms upwards. Slowly, she walked to the other side of the bed, knelt and silently watched her sleeping husband. Carefully, she placed her right hand on top of his bare chest as she lowered her left ear near to his nostrils. Her hand felt the beating of his heart and she could hear light snores that were being expelled from his nose. Upon knowing this, she signed.

She got up and dragged her small feet towards the bathroom. She flicked the lights on before stepping inside. Once she was in front of the mirror, she sighed again while unhooking the straps of her nightgown letting it fall off her body.

In the mirror, she could see her naked reflection. Her once lustrous long black hair had become dull. The shine in her eyes were gone and dark circles were starting to form around it. Her lips seemed like the desert ground. As she cupped her breasts and touched her nips, a bit of liquid sipped out from her ultra-sensitive teats that made her winced. With her hands trembling, she touched the scar from her C-section. As she felt the cicatrix, hatred was written all over her face and tears began to fall from her eyes.

Twenty minutes or so passed before she stepped out of the bathroom, dressed, wearing her hair uncombed and dripping wet. She looked at her sleeping spouse briefly before exiting the bedroom. Walking sluggishly down the corridor, she paused at the nursery’s door that was ajar and peeked at her newborn son in the crib. The toddler was sleeping soundly. She stood where she was, holding the doorknob and her hand began to tremble. Panic-stricken, she fled the baby’s room.

She composed herself when she reached the kitchen and tried to control her breathing and emotions. Immediately, she began another of her morning routines – preparing breakfast. As she was chopping the onions, she dropped the knife and found herself walking back towards the nursery. Once inside the room, she grabbed a pillow placed it on her baby’s face. The baby stirred and cried aloud.

The kettle began whistling. She almost jumped of her skin upon hearing this. She turned around and saw her newly awakened husband who was entering the kitchen. She ran to him and hugged him tightly as she poured out her grief of unspeakable act. She kept shouting repeatedly that she killed their baby. Her husband calmed her down assuring her that their son was safely tucked in the crib and was sleeping soundly.

After knowing this, she slumped on the floor mortified as she continued to bawl uncontrollably.

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Clockwork by S. Paguia is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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