Simply Lacking

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

“Had that candle always burned there?”

“Have I always been here?”

Drifting in and out of shock, dazed and confused, it was like looking through the world in a different lens. Forgetting where you are and why. Forgetting why you’re in shock in the first place. Perhaps not even knowing that you are. Forgetting why the smell of iron fills the air…

Until she looks down and sees it.

A small, red, sac. Surrounded by a pinkish grayish tissue. Floating in a sea of maroon in the toilet bowl below.

She now remembered why warm tears slid down her face, why the smell of peppermint was creeping its way through the door, why she was so scared, so sad, yet so relieved.

What had started as a simple “detoxification” of the human developing inside her had turned into a miscarriage. Although this was the desired result, it couldn't however, be described as simple in this day and age.

Not in a time when to expel yourself of the child you never wanted to have, from a man you never wanted to meet, from an activity you never wanted to partake in, was a criminal offense.

Not in a world where you need to wander the woods in search of an abandoned shack to stay in until the being inside you was no longer alive.

No. It was not simple at all.

Had it been “simple”, she would have gone to a proper clinic weeks ago and carefully and safely had the fetus removed. It still would have caused her pain to do so. This baby, as much as she hated it, was connected to her in a way nobody else was or ever could be. But she knew what she felt was right. And had she lived in a world where the majority of the population had the morality to know what is right as she did, she could have felt safe.

But she didn’t.

And she wasn’t.

But she didn’t know just how unsafe she was.

Until there was a knock on that cabin door. A ferocious knock, heavy and authoritative, splintering the century old wood of the door.

She had never had a heart attack, but was sure this is what it must feel like. Without time to say goodbye, she pushed down the ceramic handle and flushed. The water wouldn’t go down. The pipes, as old as they were, seemed to find the mass of flesh too much to swallow. Harder now, she pushed the handle again. The water circled, attempting to take it away, to clean the mess, but to no avail. She could hardly see through the tears that now poured out endlessly through her contorted face. Holding down that handle one last time, she knew she was out of luck and wiped the seat and her legs with toilet paper, tossing it into the bowl with her child. She closed the lid, wiped her tears, and began to wash her hands of the crime.

It seemed that each amendment right was being taken away one by one. Like the government had become a ruthless monster feeding on the bill of rights, and the people it swore to protect.

Without a verbal warning of any kind, the door crashed inwards, the frame snapping easily, spewing a cloud of termite dust into the air.

Jasmine opened the bathroom door, closing it behind her as she walked into the cabin’s main room, and in a nonchalant manner asked, “What seems to be the problem officers?”. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for police to shoot first, ask questions later. Or in this case, to search and seize first, and convict later without a warrant, which was no longer necessary.

Immediately one of the four officers advanced towards Jasmine, menacingly pulling out a pair of handcuffs as he approached. Another officer began to speak.

“You are hereby under arrest for the crime of abortion.”

There were no more Miranda rights to be spoken.

There were hardly any rights at all. She would still miraculously be granted a trial. But in absolutely no way would it be fair. It seems that the only reason they still hold trials is so that when a person in power is accused of rape, they have a chance to get off completely free. And oftentimes, they did.

Knowing that she would be convicted once they found her miscarriage in the toilet, she knew that now would be her only chance to escape 15 years in a federal penitentiary. She could already see one of the officers following the faint peppermint smell towards her pennyroyal tea which she had been drinking for the last week. A recently illegalized substance.

How they found out about her wasn’t incredibly surprising, it seemed impossible to hide anything nowadays. Especially when so many people held the same ideals as the police they tattle to.

She waited for the officer with the handcuffs to get close, holding her arms out in front of her in false compliance. As he looked down towards her arms, he barely had a chance to watch her hands close into fists and propel upwards into his nose which cracked like a twig under a shoe. As he grabbed his nose in pain, Jasmine reached for the gun on his waist. It was all or nothing now. She had made one of the most daring bets of her life, just before fleeing to this cabin in the first place, and she lost.

The handcuffs dropped to the ground and were replaced by a billy club.

Her hand had reached the gun. But was unable to get it out of its holster.

The first blow came at her from the side with enough force to break a rib, but landed just below. She howled in pain. Before she knew it, four billy clubs were coming down on her simultaneously, one after the other. She was a railroad spike, and they hammered her into wooden boards below until she almost merged with them.

She shed no tears as she had no more to shed. Instead, she laid on the ground, and with her one eye that could still open, peered into the eyes of one of the “authority figures”. The face smiled back. He was amused. And she knew by the look of that awful smile what her future held. There wasn’t a future to look to, and part of this relieved her. Because who would want to live in such a world. Even so, she was scared. So afraid of the moments leading to that ending, and after a brief pause, found her ending come abruptly. There was no time for remorse. The officers spoke to one another with words that Jasmine could not discern through the ringing in her ears. What followed was likely laughter by them, and more pain for her. The feeling of her blood dribbling down her chin could no longer be felt. All of the bones that had been broken, however many there were, whichever they were, no longer squealed in pain. She did however feel the bit of blood that didn’t come from the oncoming blows. The blood that flowed out of her womb. Though a memory, it felt stronger than anything that could anymore be counted as real and present.

With one final blow, her sight turned red for a split second, and through that red she could see a piece of white material in her periphere before her vision faded to black. The two boots that had been directly in front of her while she laid on the ground had become one, the other in a spot she could no longer see. In the side of her head.

It was illegal to kill an unborn fetus.

But legal for use of deadly force in situations where it often wasn’t needed. Nobody had been charged for resisting arrest since 2022 as anyone who had resisted arrest would be seen as a threat, which deadly force seemed to be the “only” answer to.

Had she been alive to still feel regret, she wouldn’t.

But she did regret ever believing in a country that didn’t believe in her.