Baby Its Cold Outside

I lay in my bed with no hope for any sleep. Tomorrow my baby is supposed to be born. If it is a boy it will be kept by the farmer and I will spend another year working as an unwilling servant spending long hours in the fields then folding Mr.Fare’s laundry. If it is a girl, my baby will be sold and I will be killed for a failure to have a boy child. The thought of escaping crosses my mind yet there's no point, for the tracker has been welded into my bloodstream. If I could run the chains of this flatbed I could cause a miscarry, but I could never do that for if my child is a boy it will live an extraordinary life yet if it was a girl I would be saving her from the newly sharpened jaws of humanity. Ever since Peterson became president, he has somehow managed to make himself King of America, back in the day to escape tyranny was why America left England in the first place yet hundreds of years later it has ultimately failed. People became hungry for power, men became hungry for power. Women have been stripped of rights and are now used for nothing more than work and reproduction. As a child I was whipped and yelled at, I was forced to do painful work in fields and ard tasks inside. Once I reached 16, as any girl, it was not my sweet 16, it was the year I would start to be used as more than just a worker, and the endless cycle of questioning if my baby is a boy or girl began. A tear slides down my cheek, I close my eyes to have any hope of slumber tonight, but I know it is hopeless. I lie in my bed for hours on end until I hear the sound of a gunshot and my pulse shoots up quickly. Is master Fare preparing the gun he is going to shoot me with if I fail him? I could die today. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to die, I wouldn't have to spend my nights crying in the place of sleeping, and I could learn how to smile. I could be happy. I take a deep breath in and out, in and out. It's going to be ok.