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Gone

How many things does it take to drive somebody crazy?  One. Two. Three. Four? I want to go crazy. Diagnose it if you wish; right now I have no excuse. No excuse for the crying and the screaming and the hurting. If I told you my story, I don’t think you’d understand. You’d be just like all the others, telling me what to do. Where I should be, with whom I should meet. It’s like they think I don’t know. But I know alright, I know exactly where I should be and who I should be meeting. I just can’t, because she’ll never get home.

Jenny will be waiting for me. Waiting for her “loving mummy” to pick her up from the school. Eagerly straining to see me from the crowd. She’ll smile when she does, or rather she won’t smile at all because I won’t be there. She can wait if she wishes, much better for her though if she goes home with one of the other parents, at least then I won’t be able to hurt her again. I’d be surprised if she even expects me. I mean, if your mother forgets you once, maybe you just accept that as an accidental lapse of memory, but if she leaves you standing every day for a week… surely you start to realise that your mummy doesn’t love you? She’ll cry and be upset at me, but I physically can’t leave this park bench. I’ll be a bad mum because of it, but I’m already the worst mum ever. If I wasn’t, the baby wouldn’t have died.

He always told me it wasn’t a baby, but what does he know? She was my baby. I could feel her squirming inside me, turning my belly into her own little sauna. Jenny would have loved to meet her. She would have been the most perfect little girl ever, but now she’s gone. Before I even got to meet her. They always say that a mother’s worst fear is losing her child, but I’m pretty sure killing your child is much worst. That’s what I’ve done. My body killed her; it was made toxic by my drunken greediness. She must have been so scared. She’d been sleeping silently within her warm home, building up the strength for her next day, then I killed her. Maybe she was awoken first by a slight lack of air? Or maybe, she was un-lovingly ­­­­snatched from her slumber by the fall itself? Maybe that was the first thing she felt? I don’t know, I can’t even ask her, because she will never arrive.

Maybe it’s for the best? Only the worst mothers in the world can murder their own children, right? Probably for the best that she’s dead, I’m clearly not right in the head anymore. I won’t even pick up my other child. It hurts too much to see her. I hate her so much, and she doesn’t even understand. She could never understand. She’s better off without me. I mean; I already murdered her sister, how long until I kill her?

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