“This child can scream,”  I think to myself.

I can barely stand his shrieks.  I wait a few minutes before glaring at his mother.  While these seconds pass, thoughts grow within me;  I can go places that she cannot go.  I can sleep when I am tired or stay up all night if I want to.  I can eat nothing but potato chips and trade water for beer.  I can have multiple sex partners.  I can drink until I vomit.  I can spend every dime I have on whiskey if choose to.  I am alone.  I am free.  But In my freedom lives a nagging discomfort.  A longing perhaps.  A hunger.  I bury it with booze and men and music.  I convince myself that self-love is my true love and the only love that I can feed.  The mother holds her boy with soft, caring arms.  Her dress is stained with tears and mucus.  It is disgusting.  She doesn’t seem to notice.  I hear a tiny voice crest above his wailing cries.

“Mama,” the boy whimpers, “I Love you so much.”

Thier affection is like bourbon.  Warm and happy.  

“This is it,”  I realize, “This is unconditional love.”

(Excerpt; Short Story, Fiction)