Requiem for the alien

Her brown eyes stare at the Y fork in the road.

As he turns the car left, she’s back

in the taupe coloured room,

looking down past her legs spread wide,

a pair of grey eyes staring

– the colour of steel –

above a white slash of cloth that covered the lower half of the face.

It hovers just above her slightly rounded belly,

its brow creased with concentration.

One more masked face beside her.

“Count backward from 100,” the voice is low.

She barely hears the instructions.

“100, 99, 98,” when did she no longer mouth the numbers?

She wakes in a brown leather chair – one white blanket covers her legs.

Warmth spreads across her belly – cold fingers touch the pliable rubber ripples on the bag,

its contents wobble like her stomach,

bile rising into her throat,

Mozart playing – reminds her of elevator muzak

requiem for the alien being she carried

— a peanut of human tissue – now just medical waste

5 Comments

    1. Yes it was lived. It is an experience that has always held me somewhat on a knife’s edge. The passing of time does not seem to alter the feelings that still war within me over this decision that I made. Was it right? Was it wrong? No answer has a yet come to me that outweighed the other side.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. You can not think was it right or wrong.. The fact it was, means it was meant.. So, do not hold onto that thought, Let it go… What is done is done.. And cannot be undone.. Sending LOVE.. ❤ Let it go in love..

        Like

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