WARNING
The following entry was inspired by a true life account. It also possesses strong opinions and beliefs upheld by the author. The author will in no way be made liable for any consequence resulting from or after reading this post.

Reader discretion is advised.

Murder, She Wrote

A few days ago, hippo shared with pig her sticky predicament. You see, hippo told of her impregnated womb, not fathered by her long time lover. Flabbergasted, pig tried to ask vague questions in a feeble attempt to keep the topic light. Alas, hippo wasn’t bothered by the whole drama of it all and proceeded to share with pig the details that led up to the intercourse.

All pig could do was try to channel beautiful, asexual thoughts and pray for a swift end.


During the next few days, hippo would often verbalize lethargy and moan publicly. At work, she would cement herself to the chairs and avoid whatever work she could. Not that it was very much of a change then her previous self, but this time, she’d divulge little snippets to pig as they passed each other.

A sort of coded message that only they knew.

Throughout this time, only the notion of aborting the growing fetus within the layers of her womb was ever imagined. Financially strapped, hippo had not considered any other option.

This child simply has to go.


Pig offered suggestions.


Marriage? Impossible. That guy is a friend’s friend.


Keep the child? I could never afford it.


Adoption? No. That would never work.


Pig understood the dire situation hippo was in. However, what pig could not imagine was how prevention was never practiced. If hippo simply loved to frolic, that is hippo’s business. But hippo should be clear headed enough to minimize or eliminate the risk of an unwanted pregnancy.


Pig tried to reason with hippo.


Two wrongs don’t make a right.


The child is innocent.


Don’t rob your child of a destiny he has yet to fulfill.


Adamant, hippo had decided upon murder as the best method of disposal, and that was that.
Pig simply could not understand how hippo would be able to partake in the murder.

Let alone, the demise of her own flesh and blood.


Then one day, deep into the night, pig sneaked in to hippo’s room while the overweight animal snoozed nosily. The darkness broken only by the reflection of the blade as pig plunged the long blade repeatedly into hippo.


Pig felt a burden lift as the warm blood oozed out, staining the bed linen.


The logic was simple. If the sanctity of the unborn child’s life could be so easily forsaken, so could the bearer’s.