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 The Happiest Day



I want to say about my daughter. . .

Do you know her?


No,        not alive.              Unborn.


She was born later. . .          from another woman.

Became a slave                     Like me


Being a slave is worse than death.

But how to explain it to a little girl. . .                later it will be too late.

Late, it’s when the semen of These will be in you. . .            when the fetus will grow       when their genus will be hidden in the body of our Genus.


“I can do it,” – that’s how you should think – I tell her.               She can’t understand what I think.



It’s morning. It’s cold.

Lying on the floor is cold, so she is sitting with her back against the wall.

It’s cold as well and you want to die so that it gets warm. . .

She’s naked – they don’t give clothes to slaves.


It will be warm after death, that’s what I think to her. . .


She is watching as the beam from the hole in the wall creeps up to her feet. . .       very close now. . .



The beam on her feet is so warm           and she feels good now.

She thinks that if she does the job that they give her today well, maybe they will give her a little more food. . .                – she is growing up and she is always hungry. . .


She does not hear what I say to her anymore.

So the sperm of These will be able to rise and everything will repeat. . .




The beam slid between her legs, up her stomach,               stopped at the dimple under her throat. . .                     rose to her face and entered her eyes.

She is looking inside the beam and understands my thought. . .


She thinks that this is the happiest day, when the warm beam is on your face and you know exactly what to do. . .       .


She guessed who I am. . .

She said,     “is that you, mom?”


And I couldn’t kill her.



I didn’t tell her that, she made it up herself. . .

To give birth to a boy who will destroy These.


They hear such thoughts.           They will cut out the female in you and that’s it. . .


You won’t be able to give birth, but the semen will be hidden in you like in the Grave. . .






She is three years old.           She’s spoilage. . .

She doesn’t have female.        So she can’t get pregnant.       It’s carved.


I tell her what to do with herself.

She understands but is afraid.

I’m going to die soon. . .          In her.

And I know what to do then. . .        .

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