“Stress to get sick,” said the people on my television. What were they talking about now? Every day the news mentioned something crazier and more outrageous than the day before. It was all a conspiracy and the journalists were in on it too.

He wanted me to die.

Stress to get sick.

Was that why he did it to me? Release his load, his burdens, his sorrows within me? Every teary confession, every whispered accusation, every fucking criticism carried with it the weight of my death sentence.

I had to move on. The news was too much to bear. I refuse to make the headlines and I will be safe when no longer under their watchful eyes.

“My father has Parkinson’s.” No thank you!

“Watching torpedoes….” Pass.

“Did anyone ever consider that this is maybe just a sick kid?” What did that man on Lifetime know? Was it he who was plagued by the demons that kept her awake? The demons…. Yes, the face that looked back at me in the mirror— such a delicate face, so sweet— hid a dark hideousness that was consuming her very being. No, I had to avoid her eyes, crystal balls of his throb—throb, throb, throbbing—vicious thrusting memories of my stolen womb.

Stupid girl, shut those eyes! Don’t let me see him, feel him inside.

That cruel, familiar face in the mirror held the power and the knowledge of one who knew how to harm and harm well. Stop it! I don’t want to see him anymore. Stop! Please…. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you both! Bad, bad man! Sinful, spiteful girl! “Perfectionism may be hazardous to one’s health. Don’t try it at home,” I screamed at her, controlling her, moving her. She was a slave to my will.

As I looked, I lost interest. No longer recognizing her, I turned away from the distraction of her ridiculous contortions. I must stay focused.

I don’t like lifetime.

“I would go to hell for you and I would let the devil scrape out my soul with his fingernails.” Such a dark phrase for such a light-skinned man. Listen! Whisper those words! I would go to hell for you and I would let the devil scrape out my soul with his fingernails. Now shout, shout them out baby! I WOULD GO TO HELL FOR YOU AND I WOULD LET THE DEVIL SCRAPE OUT MY SOUL WITH HIS FINGERNAILS.

How do you scrape out a soul? Is that what you tried to do? Damn fool! Poor bastard! Once you plant, there’s no going back! Didn’t you know? Didn’t anybody ever teach you that, you fuck? Yet ghastly gash is now the path to the opening that feeds my belly... baby belly... baby in the belly. Belly, belly, belly… button. Belly, belly, belly… button. Sing it loud! BELLY, BELLY, BELLY… BUTTON. Plug it up. Plug that belly, belly, belly button lest my soul slip away into infinity, into eternity, in pursuit of the stygian angel, lost, forever floating on the breath of death, a product of your clumsy carving of my once smooth b-e-l-l-y. The little baby gone bye-bye. Oh, God!

Plug. Flip. Escape.

“That’s quite big for me,” said Gwyneth. What is that Gwyneth? Huh? Can you tell me? Can you? What do you consider quite big for you, you virginal bitch? I once muttered those words hoping to be encountered with a sympathetic soul, a mere victim of momentary insanity. That’s what they called me, or was it him? That’s quite big for me. Wake up! WAKE UP! One victim of momentary insanity. That’s quite big for me… and yet the only memory that now lives on me is the very real remnant that is the gash of the access procured to the dead waste your entrance left behind. The only memory that now lives in me is the mangled, rotten ghost of what was once my active womb and now lies there rotting... rotten, rotten b-e-l-l-y. Rotten belly of insanity in one moment.

“He said you have to, you don’t have a choice.” I was being watched. What else would account for the voices that plagued me? These voices sang my song. They knew my soul. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t. Did I? Does a soul exist if there’s no one there to love it? Is its presence real if there’s no one there to see it? Can its voice be heard if there’s no one there to listen? Tell me, can a soul be saved if there’s no one there to need it? Did I have much choice when my mouth could not scream out in protest, when my body could not move under your weight? You said I had to, I didn’t have a choice.

They say it will rain tomorrow. Will those salty drops wash it all away? I will be safe when no longer under their watchful eyes. I don’t like lifetime… life.

Plug. Flip. Escape.

Insanity in one moment. I didn’t have a choice.

Flip.

Shhhhh....