Conceiving a curse

The babe bawled and cried in my hands, while I sat there looking at it with the hollowed eyes like the wood-less tree trunk. Tears trickled from my face, but I was in too much of a shock to wipe my eyes. A part of me expressed extreme and unendning love, like a river's water flowing into the ocean. She was everything I wanted, everything that I wasn't, and would be our society's savior and compromiser. I was sure of that.

But the other half of me was what put me into paralysis. Was the act of birthing this thing wrong? Was my union with Naav treason? It was as if all of my morality and religion was wiped clean, stripped away from me and what filled the whole was bitterness and dread and self-hatred.

I blamed everyone for my pain: my family, Naav, and all of society who told me that what I was doing was against god and their values. Who were they to direct my life? And, who was Naav to tell me that my people were utterly wrong in their beliefs? This act of blame caused further, and deeper self-hatred, that buried itself within my being.

"Pera! STOP! What are you doing!" I woke up from the truth and the pain to Naav's yells and the baby's cries, and realized that my baby's neck was about to be nearly snapped with my own hands.

Immediately Naav and the nurses took the babe away from me, while I was left to sit and cry upon the bed. Further and deeper this hole of self-hatred was digging inside me, through my organs and veins to the point my trembling frame and rattling bones couldn't be restrained. Naav came by to soothe me. I could tell he was angry through his distant embrace, but he knew and understood my pain.The hugs, soft cooing from Naav, and his love barely helped. Soon enough he started to tear up and tremble like I was. I pitied my life, and the life that Naav and I were to create for the babe and ourselves. I loved him still, despite how contradictory his life and values were to mine and my people. My love for him was more than the little love I had for myself, and this was enough to make me content.

He slapped me, with the palm of his hand, branding me with his own hatred and disdain. The nurses skittered out the room attempting to comfort the screaming babe.

Staring at me, I saw he had instant regret and anger conflicting him and causing his knees to buckle from the weight. I looked on, seeking and longing for more. I wanted him to slap me once more, to kick me, hit me with a brick, or just simply kill me to end my suffering. Because I deserved it. I didn't even notice until his hand covered my mouth, and when my throat became hoarse, that I was screaming all of this.