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Rated: E · Prose · Mystery · #2096309
contemplating the harsh realities of life
How Do You Like My Baby?

I enter a long rectangular room rumpled, indifferent and untidy in appearance.

After gazing casually around the room for a short time, while noticing numerous rows of books, it strikes me, this is some sort of place for the display or access point of books, these captivating vintage books are of substantial wear and tear, but still very readable, still containing every page and every word, all books carefully ensconced in their proper place amongst the numerous bookshelves, yes all in their proper order and position as one would see in a library, but I am aware this is not a library but a personal collection of books. Each book acquired through painstaking, diligent and arduous effort, as the owner of this particular book collection is a person of quite limited financial resources...

Someone is standing before me, their demeanor haggard, tattered and worn, exhausted, a person that has suffered very severe psychological ostracism of a calculated and vicious nature, thus inflicted for very slight and trifling social infractions. His clothing disheveled and nondescript. Gazing into his face I see a glow of friendliness and sincerity I have never before experienced in my lifetime. I pat his back with great affection. He smiles with relief, but the sadness of past disappointments cannot be concealed by his brave effort. I leave his presence to survey the grounds of his living quarters

The yard is composed of a small flat lawn of about 50 feet by 150 feet and nothing more.

As I attempt to reenter the house I think to myself, this is my way of living, I should be living in this neighborhood.

Then to my considerable surprise and fascination a young Caucasian woman blocks my pathway, she is holding a recently born infant wrapped in soft flannel blanket, pulling back the blanket ever so carefully and ever so slightly as to reveal the infants face, a face of pristine innocence and trust. I am suddenly struck by the fact that the infant is of mixed racial origin, being neither black nor white, but giving a curious impression of being exactly equal in racial contribution....

This baby is far too sweet and far too soft a babe for this harsh and evil world, and it surely cannot possibly survive beyond a very short time I muse to myself .

"How do you like my baby"? The young woman offers in hushed and cautious tone. "He is so very sweet and adorable," I reply with true sincerity, while apologizing with great sadness and regret, "but there is not room in this cruel world for such a baby as yours" I profusely lament .

She replies with intense defiance and anger. "My baby is alive now! And that is the only thing that matters!"

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