"Mama, can I ask you a question?"

Benedict Azaria never wanders too far.

He's always said that he would never leave you behind. That the two of you were going to be together forever.

It’s still hard to believe that the child you’ve carried dutifully in your womb represented the devil; the very personification of evil. Of all guts, gore and violence.

You have dreams of the world ending. Ones enough to leave you breathless in the middle of the night. You couldn't possibly go to church.

No, that's right, you told yourself. You would only be condemned for birthing the bringer of end.

And yet, you can't help the maternal instinct you feel for the little boy who views you as his greatest obstacle and salvation. You should've gotten rid of him. Killed him like all the others who knew of his existence had told you--pleaded you. Now, you were the very reason why the world was doomed.

Because of your selfishness and love.

"Have I told you how much I love you? Because I love you. So, so much. Do you love me too, mama?"

Your skin prickles at the sound of your son’s voice coming from behind you. You pause, soab suds running down the plate you were scrubbing and through the cracks of your fingers.

His footsteps were so eerily quiet—like the still breath of the undead—that it was hard to know where he was at times.

He’s just standing there, fingertips dripping with crimson and his lips bloodied. Perhaps he had just finished playing with the neighbor.