Through my watery cocoon
I hear screams
Bloodcurdling screams
Screams of someone in great pain
It is my mother
Carrier of my life
She is giving birth to me
And she is in agony
I hear a tear as I am pushed through
Bringing forth another scream
I am too young
To understand the words spoken around me
But the screams are primordial
Something any age can comprehend
They are like a lullaby
I am disappointed when they stop
I fill the room with screams of my own
Screams of anger
How dare she stop the melody
Years pass
I learn many new words
One in particular comes up often
“Disturbed”
A disturbed child am I
Simply because my favorite crayon is red
And I have used the scissors
Improperly
One too many times
So what if I cut Ken to pieces?
Barbie had no use for that eunuch anyway
My parents seem afraid of me
They whisper about my “unnatural” stare
And how I stare in childlike wonder
At all the beautiful red rare meat
In the grocery store
There are insinuations
That it is unusual
For a four-year-old
To ask for extra-rare steak
And then eat it barehanded
I say that it is perfectly natural
After all…
I am only following
My instincts
^^There you have it: the first in the sequential line of my original #serialkiller #shortstories. Not quite structured like a short story, but I wouldn’t consider it a poem lol Stay tuned next week for the next installment #amwriting #inspiration #amateur #givemeabreakiwasyoung