This is what I wrote for that first week task where we were given a piece of paper and asked to write something about it.

#26

Write a short monologue for a person (real or made up) who is extremely unlike yourself.  One of the suggestions was, 'try imagining what it would be like to be desperate and pregnant if you are in real life a man!'  I thought that sounded interesting, so ...

“Congratulations, Miss Sedgewick. You are pregnant.”

      That phrase haunted me all the way home from the doctor’s office.  It was by no means a fancy office, but old Doc Samuels was still a doctor.  What did he know about the hardships of a young woman alone, living in a dingy little one-room apartment?  I’d already done all the getting mad at the one who’d done this to me I could stomach, seeing how that was me.  Okay, sure, I’ll give you it did take two, but it owed a hell of a lot more to the bottom of several glasses than any kind of affection.  It was one of those classic tales you hear about, but don’t ever expect to happen to you.  I only went out for a few drinks and to have a little fun.  I woke up to a strange head on the pillow next to me and a ‘WTF!’ reaction only tempered slightly by a vague remembrance of having seen the guy in the bar.  And of course the unhappy recollection that ‘a few drinks’ could only be called that by certain definitions of the word ‘few’.

      I bumped my head a couple times against the back of the bus seat in front of me, then had to apologize to the guy sitting there.  I looked away quickly, lest he think to start a conversation.  I wasn’t generally the rude sort, but being sociable was what got me into this mess.  This damned face.  Just pretty enough to get a guy’s attention, but nowhere near enough to make money off it.  Well, okay, there was that, but I’d have to be starving to death before I’d sink that low.

      Problem was, that didn’t seem like such an unlikely situation anymore.  What was I going to do?  I generally managed to keep myself employed, but only rarely at anything that paid more than minimum wage.  Nowadays everyone wanted a college degree for any kind of decent job, and my parents had barely managed to keep us clothed and fed.   Which of course ruled out asking them for help.  The sad thing was, they’d help even if it broke them, and then I’d just feel like crap.

      The obvious solution occurred to me, and then was instantly discarded.  I wasn’t the kind of pro-life that believed a body went straight to hell for an abortion regardless of the situation, but damn it all, I’d done this to myself.  The poor thing deserved at least the chances I’d had, crappy as that might have been.

      I did know where the guy lived, since I’d woken up in his bed.  I doubted he’d had any more interest in that night besides the obvious than I’d had, but it was a thought worth thinking.  It had certainly been nicer than my place.  Who knows, maybe if I hadn’t snuck out while he was sleeping, we might even have talked about it.  But I did, and if he’d ever tried to find me after that, he obviously hadn’t had any luck.

      I sighed as the bus pulled up to my stop, and I got up to trudge my way to the street.  I looked up at the dirty brick façade of my apartment building and sighed again.  Damn.