A fetid stench made up the aura of the room. A network of ancient pipes slowly dripped into overflowing pails of water. The wood was swollen and water-logged, bowing from the excessive moisture. The ground was made of cracked and tarnished concrete. The walls were covered in mold and grime, adding to the filthiness of the cellar. This was a revolting, all-encompassing atmosphere of woe; a woman shrieked.
She struggled with the ropes that bound her. Like a fish, she flopped and flailed, her naked body smacking against the old wooden table. She cried out. “It’s coming!”
He appeared from a shadowy corner of the cellar, looking devilish in the light of a swinging hook lamp. The man wore a filthy white undershirt, which were tucked into old, stained blue jeans. He was whistling a soft tune as he approached the nude and pregnant woman tied to the table. She continued to push and strain, shouting as sweat poured down her face, neck and breasts. “Help me!”
“Shhhh, just breathe sweetheart.” He whispered in her ear. Through her soft blonde hair he ran his fingers. Pulling up a metal stool, the man positioned himself between her legs.
“Daddy, it hurts so much.” The man held back tears; he hated seeing her in agony.
“I know hun, I know.” He reached out and gripped her knee. She continued to cry as labor pains shot throughout her body. He reached down into a toolbox, rusting with the contents “Ok, I need you to push sweetie.”
“Daddy…”
“Push, darling. You need to push.”
“I want to go to a hospital.”
“That just aint an option, darling. You know what the hospital will do. We take care of our own, now I need you to push.”
“Oh god!” she pushed. The head began to crown. A smile plastered the man’s face. He positioned his hands as the child fell into them.
The baby cried out. It flapped its little arms and legs, sucking in its first breath. The woman raised her head, frantically trying to see her baby. “Daddy, let me see.”
He disregarded her request and reached into the toolbox, retrieving garden sheers, and snipped the umbilical cord.
“It’s a boy. Your first child is a boy.” he said excitedly. His daughter leaned up and smiled at her father.
“You mean our child.”
“That’s right baby…our child.”
“You can do it if you want.”
“No baby, you should do it. It’s your first. With childbirth come great responsibilities.”
“We should do it together.” He nodded his head, not needing any more convincing.
The man stood up and carried the baby over to a small steel table before returning to his daughter to cut her free. “It’s amazing to see you at this table. Your mother has given birth countless times on this exact table, as has your sister. Now you have become a woman, my sweet little girl.”
The woman eagerly leaped off the table and walked barefoot to the baby. Her father was right behind her, his arms wrapped around her. She reached her hand back and rubbed his face as he softly kissed her neck.
“He’s so beautiful.” She tried to hold back her tears.
“He is.” He grabbed her hand and together they slowly reached for a hammer. She smiled as she ran her fingers over the small metal object. She became aroused.
“My pussy’s wet.” She whispered.
“It is your first time. You will remember this forever.”
Together they grabbed the hammer and raised it above the crying infant.
“I love you daddy.”
“I love you, baby.”
Together they smashed the newborn, the crying stopped when its skull cracked open. They struck again, this time the hammer came down on the baby’s abdomen. It burst like a piñata. Blood drenched the woman’s nude body. She laughed hysterically. They brought the hammer down a few more times before dropping the weapon.
“I did it.”
“You did. And next time you can do it yourself.”
“I can’t wait for my next child.”
Upstairs, in the kitchen, the mother hummed a soft tune. She was cleaning dishes when she eagerly turned toward the cellar door.
“It’s done. My little girl is now all grown up.”
John Putignano 