I have never understood why you want me dead. I have tried to be good, gentle, calm, and every other thing I normally shouldn’t be by the norms of my situation. I have been all these things partly because I know how you feel about me, and partly because I never chose nor intended to be seen as a burden by you.
But all you want to do is kill me. All you want is a life without the memory of me; like it’s supposed to be my fault that I’m in your life. All you want is a life where the sound of my voice doesn’t remind you about the night I came into your life, even though you had enjoyed the act that brought us together. You had enjoyed it even though you also knew it was wrong.
Yet that was over three months ago now, and in that time we’ve both grown bigger, though my respect for you has grown the other way. Yes, it has grown thinner with each stupid attempt you have made to get rid of me all in a bid to pretend like I never happened to you. Like I’m just a piece of shit and tissue you don’t have to remember flushing down the toilet.
The first time you tried to poison me with a crude combination of potash powder, salt, and lime. Unfortunately for you, the trick didn’t work. The second time, you almost killed yourself when you swallowed ten tablets of misoprotol and drank four bottles of 7up. Thanks to your mother, you survived the whole thing, even though you were livid that the attempt still didn’t kill me.
But to hell with you and your stupid pride; because I’m so sick and tired of tolerating the thought of being the gentle little sacrificial lamb for your mistake. As far as I’m concerned, you are nothing but a selfish and insensitive young woman, thick in the heart and dumb in the head, and I’m going to teach you a lesson you would never forget. I’m totally going to make sure that my death haunts you till you realize how wrong it was for you to have hurt me.
I know very well that this quack doctor is going to stab me to death very soon, but I want you to know that before he does I would have damaged your uterus so badly no other fetus would find comfort staying there. That’s going to be my parting gift to you, and I hope you live to regret it some years from now when you find out that you will never be able to get pregnant again.
Unwillingly, I have accepted my fate, and perhaps with time you will get to accept yours too. Truly, it’s been a torturous and traumatic experience being the child you will never have, and sadly still, I will return to nothingness knowing it was a bloody waste of time too. You can wake from your anesthesia now.
Dhee Sylvester is a recluse living in a part of Lagos only few Lagosians have heard about. He’s the author of From Man To God, the co-author of Two Shades Of Crazy, and has been a part of four literary anthologies. He currently writes a weekly column for SynCity.com and was once a Football Writer at SoccerNation.ng. His poetry and short stories have been published in print and online, and he’s a screenwriter fascinated by psychopaths.