GUEST WRITER
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Enjoy……..
The Aborted
by Suann G. Amero
He used his curette, slicing and dicing the small foetus and pulling its bits and pieces out of the womb until finally it was time for the head. He reached forward with his bare hands, he’d been unable to find any latex gloves, and he crushed the fragile, under-developed bone before then extracting that last bothersome piece of the unwanted child.
He looked up at the young woman he was performing on and he smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. She had been trembling with fear through-out the whole procedure and he wanted to be sure that he hadn’t caused her any injury.
"How are you feeling?" he asked and smiled at the irony of the question but it went unnoticed by his patient and she shrugged her small shoulders and nodded before mumbling that she was okay. "I was very gentle?" he made it sound like a question when, in reality, he didn’t really care. All he cared about was the huge check that was waiting for him in the hands of her wealthy parents who were waiting in the other room.
The girl nodded and he carried the tray of remains over to the trash and dumped it in before going to the small sink in the corner of the room. He turned the water on and put his hands under it, watching the swirl of pink go down the drain as he washed the blood from his hands. He didn’t enjoy his job but he sure enjoyed the money that it put in his pocket.
Wiping his hands on some paper towels, he started toward the door. "I’ll leave you alone to get cleaned up," he said and opened the door. "If you need help, call me. I’ll be in the next room speaking with your parents."
He left, closing the door gently behind himself and went to collect his payment from the girl’s parents who were more concerned with the fact that a bastard child would sully their reputation than the fact that their daughter had wanted the child. It was none of his concern, however, and he didn’t care. He’d done his job. Now, he just wanted his pay so that he could go get a drink and the company of a willing woman.
Dr. Trevor Manning walked into the tavern feeling tired and in the mood for some relaxation and fun. He noted the gloomy atmosphere and the oppressing feeling of the air and he shrugged it off. After all, what could he expect from a bar with a name like "Sheol". The band that was performing was some unknown heavy metal group that were spouting some sort of satanic slurs and he wondered if they weren’t taking the whole thing just a bit too seriously.
He sidled up to a stool at the bar, squeezing past several rough looking characters to do so and sat down. He caught the bartenders eye and he smiled and gave Trevor a look that sent a shiver of fear up his spine. The bartender, who’s tag read "Dom", started mixing a drink and placed it in front of Trevor. "You look like you could use this," he said in a gritty tone that sounded like he’d smoked too many cigarettes and drank too much malt whiskey.
Trevor took a tentative sip from his glass and was surprised to find that he liked the taste. He gave Dom a slight smile and bringing the glass to his mouth, he downed the drink in several large swallows. He wiped his mouth dramatically, like in a bad western movie and placed the glass back on the counter.
"That’s good stuff," he smiled and stifled a belch. "What is it?"
"Gin, Madeira, cherry brandy, a splash of OJ," Dom replied and gave a knowing grin and for a second, Trevor felt as if the man had delved into his very soul and knew all of his deepest, darkest secrets. "It’s called a Nightmare." Dom’s voice held a mocking quality as he gave the name of the drink and then he smiled a friendly smile that made Trevor feel at ease.
"Well then, my friend. Hit me with a nightmare," Trevor chuckled and ignored the chilling smile that adorned Dom’s face.
"Better be careful what you ask for," a voice behind him spoke up and Trevor spun around on his stool to see who had issued the warning. Seeing no one that was looking his way or that seemed to even care that he existed, he decided that the comment hadn’t been meant for him. He’d just heard a piece of someone’s conversation that had happened to fit in with his request. That was it and that was all but he still felt chilled by the words.
He shook it off and looked back to Dom, who was placing his drink on the counter in front of him. "There’s plenty more where that came from," Dom assured him and turned to mix another drink for someone else.
Trevor took the drink in one hand and took a small sip before glancing around the room at the clientele. Some appeared to be regulars, while others appeared as out of place as he felt. He took in the dark interior and he thought the place looked like something out of a horror movie. He could just imagine the sun going down and the clientele turning into blood sucking vampires or flesh-eating ghouls.
He smiled at his own twisted sense of imagination and brought his drink up and swallowed it down. He put the glass back on the counter and rattled it lightly to get Dom’s attention. "Another," he told him and turned his attention back to his analysis of the tavern.
The band was pounding and screeching away and as hard as Trevor tried, he still couldn’t make out any of the words. He decided that it didn’t matter. Maybe they weren’t even saying anything anyway. He didn’t care. He had come in for a drink and maybe to find a woman to go home with and that was all that mattered to him.
Turning back to the bar, he took the third drink that Dom had mixed for him and drank half of it before realising that he had to use the little boys room. He looked down at the drink he held, his nightmare, and marvelled at the fact that it was the first drink that went through him like water through a sieve.
He finished his drink and after getting the information from Dom, he started toward the other side of the room where a doorway would take him into the corridor that would lead him to his destination; the rest rooms.
He felt his vision blur as he walked and he consciously registered the fact that he felt weightless. He wondered, fleetingly, if this was the affect the drink was suppose to have and he looked down at his feet and the floor. He gasped loudly and heard laughter begin. Uproarious laughter and he could see, with a glance, that everyone was watching him and laughing crazily.
Looking back to what should have been the scuffed wooden floor of the tavern, he felt his mouth hanging agape at what he was seeing. It appeared as if he were walking on fire, or more accurately, he was floating just above and out of reach of the flickering flames.
He reached the doorway and sighed in relief, the maniacal laughter of the other patrons was going to drive him mad and he wanted release from it. He stepped into the corridor and turned right, hurrying to escape the ridiculing laughter in the other room but then he stopped.
Obviously, he was hallucinating as well and he thought that the drink certainly had some potent affects after intoxication, even though he was sure that he hadn’t had enough to be drunk yet. But, the signs of his intoxication were evident. First, the floor wasn’t the floor and now..
Well, now he couldn’t get to the rest rooms because of the three-headed dog that was filling the corridor, snarling and salivating as if Trevor were a tasty morsel to be savoured.
He closed his eyes for a moment, aware of the enormous pressure on his bladder and he whispered out loud. "It’s a hallucination. The drink is making you see things." He opened his eyes and the dragon-tailed, three-headed dog was no longer blocking his path. He started toward the rest rooms and smiled as he remembered his Mythology class from university. Cerberus had been a three-headed, dragon-tailed dog that guarded Hades against unwanted visitors. So, maybe he wasn’t hallucinating after all. Maybe it had been an image, a hologram, created purposely to give the patrons a rush of excitement. After all, the tavern was named "Sheol" which in effect was Hades.
He made his way to the rest room door and with a sigh of relief, he pushed the door open and hurried toward one of the urinals only to be stopped short by heavy breathing in one of the stalls. His first thought was that some guy had pulled his girl into the rest room and they were making out in one of the stalls so he tried to ignore it but his curiosity was too much to handle and he bent at the waist to look into the stalls.
Hooves.
All he saw was hooves and what appeared to be the skinny legs of a goat. He stared in disbelief for a moment and then he remembered the dog in the hall. This had to be another hologram. This place was really taking it to the extreme to create a dark and eerie atmosphere and Trevor wasn’t sure if he really was into all this. It seemed a little weird to him.
He continued toward the urinals and stared at the wall as he undid his zipper and was about to take care of his business when he heard the stall door open and the clicking footsteps of the hooves against the cement floor. He glanced behind himself and found himself staring into a set of red eyes.
A hooded cape made the rest of the body and face impossible to see but Trevor could see he eyes and he felt a shiver run through his body. He wanted to turn away but he was captivated. Finally, a gravely voice spoke from under the hood. "You should be careful what you ask for," the voice said and Trevor got the eerie feeling that this wasn’t a hologram after all. Not even a hallucination. "You wanted a nightmare. Now you’ll get it. My mutt let you through, so you are mine now."
Trevor pulled his gaze away and stared back at the wall. He heard the things footsteps as he left and the creaking of the door as it opened and closed behind it and he sighed in relief before turning his gaze to the urinal and he cried out in shock.
The foetus was only six inches in length and even though it was still wet with blood, Trevor could see that it’s skin was virtually transparent. Staring at it in shock and a bit of disgust that someone would throw the thing in the urinal, he took several steps away. Then, thinking better of it, he reached forward and took it in his hands. It was still warm.
Quickly, he carried it over to the trash can that was in the corner and, unceremoniously, dumped the remains inside. He stepped back from the trash can, half expecting it to spit the foetus back out at him and when it didn’t, he exhaled the breath he’d been holding and looked toward the door.
He had to get out of this tavern.
He started toward the door and as he reached for the handle, he saw the blood on his hands. Dried blood. He looked toward the urinal and then the trash can and hurried back to the sinks to wash his hands. He felt a feeling of disorientation cloud his mind and lifted his head to look in the mirror at himself.
He stared at his reflection in awe.
His hair was curling around his ears and it was silky black, no longer the salt and pepper he was used to seeing for the past five years. His face was smoother and the scar on his forehead, from an accident he’d had last year, was gone. He was looking at a younger version of himself. The Trevor Manning that had just graduated from medical school and was ready to take on the world in the name of his profession.
He reached up and touched his face with his fingertips, wondering what was happening. This was far too strange and he was sure there was no logical explanation for it. He looked toward the door again and wondered about his drink. Maybe it did have a hallucinogenic affect after all. He just didn’t know.
As he looked in his mirror, to his astonishment, he saw his face grow even younger as if someone had literally turned the clock back. He looked as he had looked when he’d graduated high school. Still wet behind the ears but raring to go. Ready for the move away from home and into his own place. Ready to begin his studies of medicine and the human body. He recalled, with a smile, that he had done plenty studying of the human body but not necessarily of the medical sort.
Snapping back into reality, however, he brushed his hair from his forehead with the back of his hand and tried to shake the feeling of awe he was experiencing. This was unbelievable and impossible and he could feel a genuine sense of worry beginning to cloud his mind. What exactly was happening here? What had Dom put in his drink anyway?
He tried to think of a drug that would have these type of hallucinogenic affects but his mind wouldn’t work. It was as if he really was just fresh out of high school and at that thought, he realised that he couldn’t remember most of what he’d known about medicine just moments before.
All he could remember were the methods of abortion and when and how they worked and looking in the mirror he could see that he had grown yet another five years younger. He saw the face of the young man who entered high school with high morals and strong opinions. He saw the young thirteen year old that he had been. The teenager who had written the anti-abortion essay that had won him first place in an in-school essay contest.
He remembered his arguments as if he’d just made them and he realised that perhaps he just had, after all he was in the twisted world of his Nightmare at the "Sheol". He remembered his unwavering attitude and his face infused with colour as he argued his point.
The unborn child had a right to live. After all, would you want to be cut from your mothers womb? Would you want to be vacuumed as if your life was nothing more than a speck of dirt on the floor? Would you like the feeling of suffocation because your under developed lungs couldn’t breath outside the womb? Would you like to be pickled, much like the eggs you ate for a snack, only to be delivered later as a cold and dead hunk of worthless meat?
He had argued long and hard on that issue and the judges had admired his fire and dedication. They liked that he was opinionated and stood firm once he’d made a decision. How were they to know, that fifteen years later he would be performing those very acts that he had spoken so heatedly against?
He realised what a fraud he was then. He’d let go of everything he’d ever believed in for the sake of a few extra dollars. He’d lost his soul and he realised then, that he’d also lost his life. He finally knew what this whole thing was all about, even though the knowledge was entirely unwanted.
He watched his face change again and he realised that he was growing shorter. So short, in fact, that he could no longer see himself in the mirror. It was too high on the wall for him to see into and he felt fear surge into his being on high tide.
He looked toward the door, hoping that his legs would move and that he could go to the door and find some escape. Open the door and see that it all was just a nightmare. Something told him, however, that his hope was in vain. He couldn’t escape.
He didn’t know how far the metamorphosis would go but he knew that he had reached the age of five. His grey suit was hanging off of his arms and legs like his father’s suits had when he’d snuck into his closet and played dress-up.
With fear turning his once fluid movements into jerky gestures, he took the clothes off and hurried into one of the stalls. He felt hot tears falling down his face as he let himself sink to the floor to curl into a foetal position on the left side of the toilet. There was just barely enough space between the toilet and the wall to accommodate his size but he didn’t care. He knew that it didn’t matter.
He felt himself growing smaller and smaller and he knew enough to be afraid as his breathing became laboured. It felt like a big hand was squeezing at his lungs, forcing the air out. Forcing him to gasp for air. He flailed his arms and he tried to scream but all he could hear was the weak cries of a baby and he knew they were his own cries.
As he moved his arms and legs, struggling to get air into his under-developed lungs and listening to his own wailing cries for mercy, he thought he must know what it was like to be the child aborted through Caesarean. The unwanted child, left to die all alone and scared and not understanding.
He cried and thrashed about, wishing and praying that his misery would soon end. That someone would have mercy and put an end to this torture. Let him die, if he must, but let him die quick.
He laid there crying and thrashing about, with his forty year old mind still intact, until he was too weak to move or cry anymore. Then, his ears heard the sound of the rest room door opening and he was aware of a big shadow as someone stepped into the stall.
Dom laughed and taking down his zipper, he pissed on Trevor remains. The abortionist had become the aborted.
© Suann G. Amero
