The Final Thoughts of a Murdered Infant

I don't recall when my umbilical was cut; I think it was only a few days ago, when I was born. Not long ago I was safe in the nursery and the only home I had ever known. But now, I am with a stranger being slowly and methodically murdered. I'm only a baby.

I was set naked upon a plastic-covered floor. Just out of my reach sat several shiny, metal instruments. It was clear my captor had done this before; the room was well prepared, her motions well rehearsed. With barely a second look at me, she picked up a large knife and thrust it deep within my belly near my still-drying umbilical cord. I didn't cry - the pain barely registered. Being so small, my life was leaving me quickly. I just remember the cold as my belly was sliced open in a wide arc around my navel, allowing my innards to spill out.

My last memory was of my captor pulling out handfuls of my guts and setting them with a wet plop next to me. As the lights faded, a child entered the room and reached for the spoon next to me. "Mom, can I help?"