Clown Car

The baby couldn't have been mine. I didn't have the necessary equipment to produce another life, so I'd taken a kitchen knife and cut the child out of me. I told myself  some malcontent had put it inside of me as a cruel joke. Maybe they had done it as I slept. It seemed to be the only explanation. Even if I'd had a uterus, there was still the small issue of not having a sperm donor handy.

Ha ha. Time to push out another kid, Nessa. You'll never escape this fate. Sooo funny.

The baby went into the arms of another; I'm not quite sure who, but definitely somebody who would want such a thing. Since it wasn't mine, I should have felt relieved. The child would thrive elsewhere, under the care of a soul who could provide for her. I couldn't even muster up the smallest sliver of want.  Guilt, yes, but not desire, not want.

The haphazard stitching had begun to unravel, and my wound had begun to fester. I pressed my hand against the tender, reddened skin where I had tried to hide the signs of pregnancy from the world. The scar split open, and the baby's fist pushed through the gap from the inside. I took her tiny hand in mine, pulled her out of the wound with slick, red blood flowing freely down my body.

Where did she come from?

As soon as I swaddled her and set her to the side, the next one came shoving herself out of me. And then the next, and the next, and the next...