A Summer of Rage

I Had a sick vision; all the aborted blastopore, blastula, embryo’s and limb budding fetuses irradicated this year so far we’re making their slow painful way past the Supreme Courts. Some carried clusters of not-differentiated cells in their undeveloped arms, most were rudimentary sentient beings; They left slick trials of blood behind them, and behind those tell-tale trails followed females dressed in red garb screaming “My body, my choice!” One late-term victim spoke out explaining to anyone who would listen that intrauterine babies were not ‘their’ body, no more than a pup belongs to the body of a dog, that it took two humans to fertilize an egg, and a becoming embryonic organism is a being separate from any other body while only sojourning within its mother to be nourished until it could be brought forth as an autonomous human life. Upon hearing this, the outraged crowd grew yet more feral, frothing at the mouth while yelling incoherently. They set upon the aborted with steely knives and many a curse. Blood ran through the Capital, and their chanting could be heard upon the breeze of every warm summer evening there, until winter snow’s arrived to bury the already dead.