Anyone reading this who has never read my writing before, all of the notes on the top and bottom are completely normal.

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Hey, my clueless morons. This is part of a writing contest. I hope you all like it.

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I never expected to have my story written. I thought that it would be impossible, but here I am writing my story. My story of being a child forced to bear children to keep the world populated. I was thirteen when my first "assignment" was given to me. He was old and bald without any outward appeal. His wife looked so young compared to his wrinkled skin. They took me into their home and told me that I was going to bear a child for them. They asked if I understood. I wanted to lash out, but I didn't. I remember his skin was rough and felt so wrong against mine. I remember hating myself afterwards. The pregnancy was hard. My body wasn't prepared, so it fought the whole entire time. The baby made it. I never learned the gender or name, held them, or even heard their cries. I was told that I did well. I always hoped to see my baby again. I never did.

Over the next years, I was sent to as many males as I could possibly go to and be pregnant. I was almost always pregnant. I had a a few months or so in between pregnancies for a smaller chance of miscarriage. Then it happened. The last man I ever had to be with got me pregnant at the age of eighteen. He was actually nice to me. He got to know me a bit and was gentle with me. He wasn't even bad looking with his dark skin and light eyes. When I was half-way though the pregnancy, he decided that he didn't want the baby. She became the first of my children that I ever got to see. She was my little Sophia. Her eyes were bright, just like her mind.

They still are. It's been forty years since she was born. Carrying all those children is finally catching up to me. Sophia had her own child named Anna, who married a wonderful woman named Dawn and had two baby boys named Rick and Chris. I can feel my death growing nearer. This will be the last thing I write. It made me remember why my daughter cries at night. It made me remember that my nightmares are just my memories. It was my story.

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Thank you for reading. Don't forget to comment to each other to see how you are all doing. You all are so beautiful, inside and out. Love you all. Remember that you are love and that as people who read my writings or follow me, we are here for you and support you. Stay beautiful. Love you.