How can this be real. Why is this happening?
What cosmic error did I commit that brought this to life?
Or is it just my time to pay the price in the random swirl of randomness that makes up the big bang theory of random happenings that rule the universe and its randomly mutated, Darwineanly selected inhabitants?
I am too well-fed to be deprived – the internal layer of fortification that circles my midriff is ancient protection from the vicissitudes of life – insurance, a hedge for my survival.
That protective fat layer knows nothing of the demands of the twenty-first century.
It only knows the ancient need to procreate, and is attempting to ensure that I will have the reserves – even if I no longer have the necessary equipment, the means, the opportunity, or the desire.
The last thing I would ever, ever consider doing is adding to the lives I already bear the guilt of creating, the horrors I have foisted onto this unsuspecting planet of humanity.
I’m sorry. I did the best I could, and it wasn’t enough.