Nothing is really promised to you, we just hope that we get the outcome we want.
The outcome for the perfect marriage, perfect health, and decent enough body, well the truth is the dice was rigged for small numbers.
Your prized outcome is nothing but a fictional value in your mind that keeps you going, that gives you a set of goals that will motivate your heart to continue to pump oxygen.
But really, the little round sphere that we idolize so much has been dying for years, poisoned with gas and riddled with fossil fuels that have a longer life span than you do.
The precious nature and the ecosystem that sustained itself for years is caked in decades of thick red liquid, so littered that it dares to challenge the ocean for a spot. Poor creatures gasping for air underneath the pitiful floor, that even their predators are starting to give up.
It is a sad, desolate, future wasteland that brews trauma within its core and spits it out like bitter coffee. Yet we consume it like it is the most tasteful liquid on the planet, crushed beans mixed in with our bruised tongues. Burning the outer layer to a mucky, thick soot, turning our teeth into mush as our gums beg for mercy.
But sadly, our hypnotized craniums won't give out until the last breath is drawn and the final organ is rotten. Worse than mold or a tainted fungi, we will reject all natural forms of liquid, and blood will start to taste better than water.
It would never be my intention to go back to the time before my birth, but if it were an option, I would wonder if happiness was ever on the table. To the version of me that first came into the world, I wonder if there was ever a smile on her small, round face.
If her day of birth was ever celebrated as a welcome change, and if my first years were ever joyful. I don't remember much of it, but I would hope so, hope that the innocent child got to see some good in the world before it ruined her.
Before it swallowed up her blood and left her to dry, I would hope that some good words were said to her. That she was loved like a child should be before the world came to crush her bones and eat her pride. Before she was blamed for the way she destroyed her mother's body, and ruined the future her mother could have had. Or how her small body stretched her mother's stomach and put pressure on her organs, how her mother could have died because of her place in the womb.
Permanently marking wretched stretched lines on the outside of her mother's stomach. How her mother would never forgive her for that, forgive her for being born in the first place when she could have been prevented. But now she's here and not even a good excuse for an offspring of something worth dying for.
She is mental and grows up with pain in the brain, frail bones, and a lazy excuse for this world. Her mother wonders how she is even still here when she cries herself to sleep every night. The doctor recommends pills for her, but the mother knows it won't fix her. Not when she's been broken from the start, plagued with the mother's internal disgust for herself that not even her daughter can look in the mirror.
The burning hell from her mother was there long before her daughter was born, but the excuse of her child's birth would be her greatest sin. Admitting to her faults, her own disfigured traits would be too much like right. She had to blame someone for her anger, her distaste.. Maybe not her own parents or husband, or for the fact that she willingly had and created her daughter on her own accord.
But the fact that her child was there, and not perfect, not unfazed by a world meant to kill her from the second she bloomed with a color that wasn't see-through. This very fact was the reason she had to hate her daughter, break her down, and stab her so that she would get used to the pain.
Cut her skin so that the cuts others would make wouldn't hurt as much, she had to call her child nothing and useless. So that when the world swallowed her whole, her daughter would gladly give herself away and continue to spread the disdain she was blessed with.
Blood tastes better than water because it reminds us what true pain feels like, why the ones who gave us life will hurt us the most.
Blood tastes better than water because, at the end of the day, it will be all we are left with when the world ends. An endless sea of red crimson awaits us to dip our cup into.
Blood tastes better than water because it is what our parents taught us was right, taught us what was the superior form of liquid. And when they die, their blood will be their children's to drink, to consume, and lather in so that they can spread the message.
The fear, the illness, the plague, the FEAR, THE ILLNESS, AND THE PLAGUE.
To harm the others who hurt them and rip the eyes from the victims' faces so that the tears may clean their wounds. The holes in the earth will reflect humanity's sin against itself, and birth will be the biggest blame for shameless abuse that feeds the internal wound.
Hell will be what humanity makes it, and the children that were wrongly sacrificed will get their revenge. Even if they have to rip the heart of the planet they lived on, that pain will come back 1000 times worse than they have ever received it.
Tears they cried will form a river and wash away the wrong that was dealt to them, and their brains will be healed from the sickness they were taught.