“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)