What would you write if you were only allowed 100 words per year of your life?

I was born two months early, blue and crying. My mother said my father swore the whole way to the hospital, saying “He’ll be early all his fucking life now. Fucking shit, Madison. He’ll be the teacher’s shitty little bitch, always fucking early.” My mother didn’t argue. She never argued. My father didn’t hit her when she was pregnant. That’s why I’ve got seven little sisters. Mother does her best to not get hit. It doesn’t always work. I’m a boy, unable to get pregnant. I’m not sure how much protection I would have gotten even if I could conceive.

The End

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