Chapter Thirteen: Why Don't You Hate Me?

                                    

                                          
"You're doing so good honey, so wonderfully. Oh I can see her head crowing. She's coming. Come on honey, just a few more pushes and she'll be here."
                          
I watched a woman who looked to be in immense pain, push and push a child out of her. It was odd, the woman looked like me. He hair was long and blonde, but you really couldn't tell that from it being so matted with sweat. She was red in the face, and her eyes looked tired and strained. 
                          
The man next to her was giving the woman nothing but loving words of encouragement, and not wincing once when she squeezed his hand for dear life. He was her cheerleader, her coach, and he was doing a damn fine job. 
                          
I watched from the ceiling. Well from midair. I had a birds eye view. It was pretty groovy if you ask me. And a little disturbing. Have you ever seen a baby being born? I don't understand why they say it's a miracle. I guess the actual act of pushing a human out of your body is considered a miracle. But to people that actually view it. It's horrifying. And I'm a gore/horror freak. But this makes me want to either throw up, or hide my face. Or both. 
                          
Suddenly the room was filled with the cries of a newborn. The shrill screaming. The baby was a girl. She was the perfect weight, and healthy as a horse. The doctors had taken her over, and the newly father got to cut the cord. The tears of joy that filled his eyes, were no match for the love that was in them. The proud expression on his face as he took the medical scissors and snipped that cord was almost too intense to watch.
                          
They cleaned the baby off, and handed her to her father. Holding her in his arms he passed her along to the exhausted new mother. The woman looked down at her baby girl with tired and strained eyes, but a loving smile lit up her face. Making it seem she wasn't so worn out after all. 
                          
Suddenly time started to zoom a bit. To the next day. There they were. The new family. The husband sitting next to his wife, who was feeding their daughter. The woman looked down at the now sleeping baby, and kissed her forehead. 
                          
"Oh my sweet Kayla. I love you my precious baby girl."
                          
She looked up with sad eyes, straight at her husband...the love of her life. He looked down at her, a tear fell from his eye.
                          
"I love you Ken. Always know that."
                          
"And I love you too Barbie. I always have, and I always will."
                          
The woman smiled and closed her eyes. But something didn't feel right. Something didn't sound right. The flat-line. 
                          
She had died.
                          
I bolted out of my bed like I had been electrocuted. 
                          
That was me. 
                          
That was my father.
                          
And that woman....
                          
....That was my mother.
                          
..........Oh god. 
                          
I killed my mother.
                          
I watched myself be born. I watched my mother die right in front of me. I was responsible for her death. Didn't dad tell me that....that the birth was too much of a strain?
                          
It....it was my fault. If I hadn't been born.....
                          
My father could still have my mother. 
                          
My father would be in a loving relationship.
                          
I'm a murderer. 
                          
I wanted to vomit. I wanted to purge everything about me away. I was disgusted with myself, I wanted to go away. And that's exactly what I did. As I ran to the bathroom I noticed that the clock on my nightstand read 2:45am.