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Rated: E · Short Story · Death · #1724625
Pain and pain and pain...
                “I’m sorry to say,” the doctor started, “But your mother has miscarried.”
         My whole world came crashing down on me right then and it took a great effort to not collapse onto the floor and bawl my eyes out.
         The little brother I’ve been wanting is dead.
         He’s dead.
         The doctor looked at me expectantly, waiting patiently for an answer and I managed a shaky nod. He looked at me, sympathy in his dull eyes and then turned to walk away.
         I took a swaying step back and sat down on the chair I was previously sitting on, before the doctor had arrived to tell me the devastating news. My mother had been 9 months pregnant with a baby boy. He was perfectly healthy, so why did he still have to die?
         I was breathing in short, shallow gasps, chest heaving up and down with each breath I took. It hurt, the pain in my chest was great and it was obviously affecting my breathing. I was so excited about the baby, to have a little sibling to play with, since I was an only child, but now my hopes were all crushed like a fragile toy.
         Now, it was all gone.
         He was gone.
         My eyes watered and the fact I was going to start crying in the waiting room of a hospital was the least of my concerns. They could see my cry, they could see my tears, I wanted them to know how much pain and at loss I am in.
         A chocked sob pulled itself out of my throat and then the salty tears spilled.
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