Killing Me - Birth
Everyone has a story. This is mine. It is not a fairy tale with magical slippers or charming princes, like Cinderella's. My story doesn't have a happy ending, I reckon it never did.
From the moment I was conceived, I proved a problem. Mother was bedridden for the 10 months she carried me. Her morning sickness just about done her in, but I guess it wanted me to finish up the job. For one night, when nary a soul was in the world of the living, I popped out her womb; she never breathed again. Father was torn. He was a strong, proud man, too big for his own good. But from that day, always, his shoulders drooped, and his eyes no longer shone bright. Eye sockets sunken and hollow cheeks, he was the very image of a dead man.
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