Page 189 - The Houseguest

nothing, not even a nod of acknowledgement for the most profound and reflective works ever produced.
Angered, I stood and reached for the only means of sustenance she had, the water pitcher with the long straw. I lifted the container and slowly poured the chilled liquid up and down her body, letting the large ice cubes bounce off her forehead, some striking her in the eye. She winced and twisted her head from side to side. I exited the room with: “Now you’ve taken away your baby’s only form of nourishment besides what your useless body is giving. You shouldn’t be sad that you’ll never meet your baby because you would have sucked at motherhood anyway.”
Closing the door, I waited and listened inevitably for the crying, and she didn’t disappoint.
The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life
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