I can hear the rumbling engine that portends my end. The hateful behemoth sucking air and spewing smoke is only two blocks away, its intention to lead us to our destiny. I am no poet, merely a preserver of history. I want someone to know, someone to read this and feel my misery, our misery.
My mom cries in the other room. She has no power, neither do I. We will both be taken and I’m glad for once that my father is no longer living. I write this as a memory, to preserve my thoughts and feelings. Soon I will not be allowed to feel, my choice of actions reduced to lying on my back and spreading my legs for strangers.
We are told this is our duty, those females who are left. The good of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Didn’t a famous person say that once? I don’t remember their name, just as no one will remember mine.