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Weekly Contest #342
Content Warning: Themes of mental health and grief. My mother was 20 years old when she gave birth to me. It was on a rainy day in the middle of December. I was told that while she was screaming from pain, biting the nurses and begging for the overcrowded room to be emptied, the rain was calmly dripping on the windows, just like the tears on her face. It took eight hours of labor for me to breathe into the world, a number that still makes me gasp anytime I ask her about my birth story. Hours of excruciating pain that she’d then recall fading...
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