You're in the hospital. The chemotherapy is incredibly taxing on your body, but it's the pain relief and the anti anxiety medications that truly cloud your mind. It's either that or be in continuous pain and agony. Truth be told, the warm euphoria of your pain killers is the only pleasure left to you now. You'll never again know the pleasure of a quiet drink with friends. The touch of a man. The glowing satisfaction of a job well done. Even in the haze you know the end is near. You worked hard all your life. You juggled a career and motherhood. You poured your hopes and dreams into your child, and squirreled away a modest nest egg for him in the hopes he'd get some of the advantages you never had.
He's come waddling into your hospital room now. His limp, greasy hair clinging to his sagging jawline and rolls on his neck. The lumps and folds of his doughy body squished into his too-tight tshirt. He's wheeling his diaper-clad, wheelchair bound girlfriend in with him. A thick thatch of her belly hair pokes out beneath the crinkled waistband of her soiled diaper.
"PENNY, THAT FUCKING CUNT LEFT STANDING CAT PISS ALL OVER THE FLOOR, AND HE NEVER ONCE THANKED YOU FOR CLEANING IT UP." Paul was born without an indoor voice, and his words carry clearly to the other dying patients in your ward.
He unplugs your heart monitor, the machine goes silent. "KIND NEEDS IT TO CHARGE HER SWITCH, MOM"
You reach out your hand, to try and grasp his. You had such high hopes for your baby boy. Poured so much love and affection into his upbringing. Sacrificed so much.
"Paul, I---"
"FUCK! DONT YOU START DEADNAMING ME TOO NOW, YOU BITTER OLD CUNT." He jams some papers in your face. "HERE, I NEED YOU TO SIGN THESE. THE TRANCH IS FUCKED, MOM. PENNY REALLY FUCKED YOUR CREDIT UP. YOU BETTER GET A LAWYER OR THE BANK IS GONNA START DIPPING INTO YOUR SAVINGS."
Paul leaves the papers on your chest and begins rifling the pills left on your nightstand.
"DO YOU REALLY NEED ALL THESE HYDROCODONE, MOM? KIND'S EPILEPSY IS SO BAD THESE DAYS THAT SHE CAN BARELY HANDLE HER 14 INCH VIBRATOR WITHOUT FALLING INTO A SEIZURE. I'M JUST GONNA TAKE A FEW, OK?"
"Wee waah wee. I'm a robot baby" Kindness chirps in agreement.