Birth

Pinned to the table like a moth in the back of the biology lab, dried out and older than most of the professors. Small pieces flake away when the shelves rattle, but I don't care. My face crawls like a million ants are eating their way inwards, and these shallow breaths are useless. I have no power, it has been taken from me with one needle after another, my body no longer is allowed its purpose. But somehow, as they cut through my flesh, you are here, and I hear your scream pierce the air. There is nothing else.