Today, I learned I was pregnant.  My sickness came in the morning as I woke from a short, haunted sleep.  Four hours of hell before meeting the sunlight, as it tried to sneak it's way into my bedroom, left me feeling forlorn and forsaken.  It was at that moment I felt it. 

I rushed to the bathroom and lifted the toilet seat, and sank to my knees, waiting for the inevitable release of the contents of my bowels.  It finally came in a wave of nausea and pain so searing and hot I swore I was shaking hands with the Devil himself.  I ignored that hot, bloody, sticky torment and concentrated on my survival.  

It was over.

I felt the life inside of me, felt it growing.  Another wave swelled, this time becoming a tsunami, rushing to drown me in it's all too unforgiving onslaught of hurt.  And then it subsided.

My eyes were closed, and I maintained a death grip on the outer rim of the porcelain bowl that now held the entirety of yesterday's meal.  Tears dug at my eyelids, desperate to escape their dark prison.  And then they broke free.  I forced myself to stand.  My belly was growing larger.  I walked back into the bedroom from where I had lain with the very woman that cursed me with this thing inside me.

My knees buckled then, and I fell as Goliath stoned between his two great eyes.  It was not a sling with a fist sized rock that slew me; it was a great, burning mountain falling from the stars, the final witness to my doom.  The thing inside me tore through me, and grew, and grew, and grew.  Me, a bloody mess, now, somehow, on the bed, stared in quickly evolving horror as my eyes touched the face of the thing born of me.  It was in my likeness.

It raised an arm and pointed behind me, bidding me face the carnage I knew was there.

I turned, and the woman who impregnated me was not, was gone; remains...and nothing.

Today, she and I had a child, and I bore this child, this seed I named Hate.