Tuesday, June 2, 2009

unfinished #5480396

That number may be inaccurate, don't quote me on that. Anyhow, this is supposed to be a woman who had an abortion. Not for the reason of unplanned teenage pregnancy, but rather because there is a high chance it would have a disability.
Or other option, as suggested by a friend; because she has AIDS. and yeeah... What do you think?

Mothers have a very special task. Tales of the lengths they will go to in order to protect their children are heartwarming, inspiring, and almost legendary. Veritable proof of human goodness in a world that is all too often cruel and uncaring. A mother's love is revered.

And it is that which makes what I have done the most ultimate of betrayals, the worst of crimes and most decadent violations of this sacred duty.

Shame is not an adequate emotion. I sacrificed the life of my child for my own... what? Peace of mind? That could not be further from the truth.

Because I thought I was not up to the task, that I was not capable of the love and degree of caring necessary?

I feel sick sick sick. The death of my baby demands justice. Take me to court, try me, condemn the perpetrator of this unspeakable crime. What human could be so heartless?

Is it because I thought I lacked stamina, resilience? Because I managed to deceive myself, to somehow be convinced that it was the best course of action? For both of us? That no life for my child was better than a life filled with struggles?

Millions, millions of people face the same thing, and even more debilitating problems, every day and emerge successful and happy, victorious over this disease.

Why couldn't my child have done the same?


Reflection by Death

Yes, it's from the perspective of Death. Nothing like extreme personification. Again, unfinished. A friend's suggestion, which I love, is to reflect on the first person "I" sent to hell, and the first that went to heaven, and the extremes, etc. What is mentioned here isn't necessarily a reflection of my views; that of heaven and hell merely being holding bays for our souls that can fill up, etc. And I believe our souls are of incredible value, not mere waste left over after life is done with them. But that is neither here nor there in this instance. What think ye?

I am reluctant, you know. I am as much bound by this nature as you are by me. I am feared, despised by most. Eternally alone. Your fleeting presence is of no interference with this inescapable darkness, with me for one instant, already grey, the glow and warmth of life banished, left to another. The inheritance for yet one more of your kind.

They call it the cycle of life, the old giving way for the new with death and birth in turn, but while life indeed is recycled, what of those passed into death? Carted to their respective destinations, growing ever fuller. A faulty production line with no output for discarded material, which continues to accumulate. What then, when these final sites are at maximum capacity? Where then shall your souls find to stay, crowded and confused?

I wonder, sometimes. You see, I have of lot of it – time. I am governed by it also, but in a different way to you. Time is the customer bringing you to me, and I am the cashier, the register, all in one. Checking you out. You no longer belong to the store of the living. I am the go-between, the mediator, to what is beyond.

And what importance are you to me? None. I should be as disinterested in you as the cleaner resigned to his menial position, relegated to mopping floors that will only be stained again shortly, and his work begins again. But you intrigue me. My brief contact with you in this void place has sparked my curiosity. With no access to life except as its exeunt, I can’t resist the desire to know more about this whole experience.

Here, then, is my confession.

I am the gateway to heaven and hell. Funny, that some would question their very existence, for without those docking bays, why, I would your holding place once you have passed from life, something I am so vastly inadequately equipped for that it is laughable. Perhaps if you could catch a glimpse of what lies beyond, you would not be so afraid of me, for it is the uncertainty I bring that causes you so much fear, is it not? You humans are desperate to know, know, know, to control. You must understand before you can accept an idea, and yet at times you so easily accept what others tell you... A confounding species, indeed.

For, even if you could see that I am merely a passage into heaven and hell, that doesn't mean that you would believe. You believe what you wish to, ultimately, regardless of the facts that lie before you. Your minds are far more powerful that the majority of you will ever comprehend.

I am intrigued, then,