Wild things

A mother's worry is forever. I worry always about your safety, your health, your happiness. Sometimes I still sneak into your room in the dead of night, just to watch you sleep, to make sure that you're still breathing. All mother's worry about their children. But not the same way I worry about you.

Truly, I never should have allowed you to be born, and oh, how it hurts me to even think those words. Imagine a world without you, my daughter, my light and my love? Impossible. Yet I knew from the very beginning that having you was a purely selfish act.

Oh baby girl, how could I have let this happen? I've been so very vigilant, kept it locked safely away for so long. I can't let all of my hard work be for nothing. I can't allow you to change into...No. It's not set in stone. You don't have to have it in you just because I do. I pray, I pray every night to a God that I lost all right to petition many years ago, I pray for you, my baby. I pray for your soul. I pray that the curse ends with me, that you take after your father only. Your good father, and not your mama. Not me, my child, please, please don't take after me.

But the closer you come to your 16th birthday, the more it seems my prayers are not to be answered.

I see the way you lift your lovely young face to the wind, see the way your delicate nostrils quiver as you unconsciously scent the air. I notice the way the volume on your TV and radio has decreased lately, loud noises seem to offend your ears. And, oh, your smile. Your beautiful, carefree smile baby. The same smile that has always before brought such gladness to my heart fills it now with dread and revulsion. It's changed in the past year, grown wider, teeth whiter and sharper than before.

But maybe theses changes are only in my mind. Maybe I see them only because I fear to see them so completely. Please, let this be the case. Let it all be in my mind. The alternative is to horrible to contemplate.

I suppose we'll know either way soon enough. Your 16th birthday approaches with terrible speed. Less than a week now baby. Less than a week before your life (and mine) may be forever altered, forever changed for the worst. I pray, still I'll pray, that you may never know the horror that I've known. That you are not like me. I'll pray until there's no use left for prayer. Please baby girl. Please don't change.