Chapter One

The waiting room was white, which I found hypocritical. White denoted purity, innocence, freedom from evil, when what I was about to do was anything but that. Was it evil, though, what I was about to do? I looked at the faces of the other girls about to commit the same evil as I. They were silently brooding, possibly replaying the scenario that led them here. I found it slightly comical. You never think that you'd end up here, just like you never thought you'd end up at an embalmer's. Fear was the unmasked expression that made them one. They all looked the same because of it, you see. Despite the different hair colors and lengths, different races and body frames, we all have the same expression of primal fear. You never planned to have a baby, at least not now and certainly not with him. You never thought that the class smarty-pants with the perfect GPA could fall. But she has, greatly. Most of them were considering keeping it. They weighed the pros and cons in their minds, eyes fixed on a non-existent, faraway object as they were deep in thought.They never had enough time to process, as the line to the operation room shortened with each passing second. The faraway look didn't leave their eyes even after the deed was done. The realization of what they had just done, and the guilt that followed was clearly visible on their faces.

Analysing people kept me from entering my own mind. It always had. What about me? Was I contemplating on keeping it? No. Was I going to regret this later? We'll see when we get back.

Escaping from my mind into reality, I find myself separated from the preceding girl by a number of chairs. Apparently, we were the last two people in the white waiting room. She had olive skin, dark brown hair that covered her face, and was wearing a blue summer dress that made one debate whether she was just coming from a picnic date. She chewed anxiously on the nails on one hand, while a blue silk fabric was tied to the other. I could have made small talk, but what would I say? Before I could think of further action, a dashing, dark-haired doctor in a dazzling lab-coat called for the next person, while holding the door open for her. She walked with uncertainty at first, but gained confidence as she edged closer to the ajar door. The doctor had a fake, tight smile plastered on his face, and his teeth shone a great deal. I was confused as to whether the smile was meant to encourage or scare her. The white, birchwood door swallowed the olive girl and engulfed the blinding smile of the doctor.

Now that I was close to the door, I noticed that no sounds emerged from the door. Of course, it was soundproof. Hearing the screams of the patients in the room would scare the young girls in the waiting room that were already livid with fear. Yet, when I strained my ears a little bit, I heard the muffled screams of olive girl. I heard her tears, her pain, her regret. I could almost see her when I closed my eyes, legs sprawled apart with gloved hands probing her insides, tied to the chair to restrict her movement. Perhaps her mouth was stuffed to mute her wailing. I saw her now, emerging from the room like a soldier that survived a raging war. In her own way, that was what she was. A soldier. One that fought on the losing side. One of the few survivors out of the thousands that started the war. One that would live with survivor's guilt for as long as she dared to live. She floated away in a trance. As I looked on, she walked out of the small clinic. It was only when she was a small distance from the tiny building that she donned the blue hijab that she had previously tied on her arm.

I turned as Doctor Bright Smile called out for the next person. He did a quick, cursory glance of the waiting room until his eyes landed on me. He held my gaze for a fraction of a second. I knew the question he asked with his eyes.

'Do you really want to go through with this?'

I stood up in response, speeding past the open door into the room.

The room is cold. Too cold. Is there an AC somewhere, or is the cold-blooded nature of my past haunting me now?

It is too real now-what I am about to do. It can't change anything. It won't change. It didn't change.