I open my eyes and see the pillow poised over my face. Yet in my drunken state, I am helpless to struggle, unable to stop what I know is inevitable. I can only hope my murderer will be swift and merciful.
The pillow moves closer, the hands holding it gripping the edges tightly, firmly, white knuckled. I am still unable to fight my destiny. Instead I think about my life and what I have done with it.
Enough of that, I have accomplished nothing. I think about my children, the ones I never should have had. I think about all the trouble they have caused, simply by being in my life. I think of how I have made them pay for the misery they have brought to me.
My two boys are next to useless. They can't even steal enough food to keep me fed, let alone themselves. All the boys have been good for is sexual satisfaction, but really, as far as lovers go, they were lousy in bed. I pity the women they try to make love too.
The girls, well at least they are easier to keep in line. They earn their keep, sleeping with the men who bring me my liquor. They whine and bitch about it, but in the end they do it, even if I have to tie them to the bed. What choice do they have, after all I am their mother, they have to do what I say, don't they?
