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Bubbles was the closest thing to family Chaos had. When she was five, Chaos’s mother signed her over to foster care and she never came back for her. Chaos always felt abandoned, unwanted and never found a place suitable enough for her to call her home.
She was raped by her foster father, abused and teased by the other kids, and was always told that she wouldn’t be shit in life but a slut or a ho. And with others knowing her mother’s background as a prostitute, they judged Chaos before knowing her and figured the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.
Her mother, Diane, gave birth to Chaos in an abandoned building in Hunts Point on a cold February day. She was sucking the dick of a trick on the third floor for twenty dollars when her water broke and she went into labor.
Diane Mitchell fell back against the dirty and grimy weathered wooden floors, screaming in agony. She clutched her stomach, fell paralyzed to the ground and couldn’t get up. All she could do was remain rooted to the ground in her soiled sundress and ragged winter coat and curse her unborn child for fuckin’ up business for her.
The trick looked on wide-eyed and was too scared to get involved. He quickly zipped up his jeans, got his shit in order, and ran off, leaving Diane to give birth to her baby alone.
Diane loud cries echoed throughout the empty cold building and fell on nothing but the wind that swept through the rooms.
“Aaaaaahhh . . . ouch! Ouch! Ouch . . . shit!” she cried out in anguish, as she squirmed around on the ground.
She felt the baby extracting itself painfully from her tearing and bleeding vagina. There was blood underneath her and the wrinkled sundress was ripped by her clenched fists.
For an hour she pushed and pulled her baby out of her. She was still alone with the wind nipping at her skin and exposed, widely spread legs. The rats and creatures scurried around her, smelling blood.
As Diane grunted and panted, one fat rat came to within inches of her face and a second came close to her baby’s exposed head that dangled from out her vagina. It scurried around her open legs as if the protruding infant was a snack.
Diane felt helpless as she continued to push her daughter out and tried to defend herself from the nasty rats that wanted to take a bite out of them. She picked up objects within her reach and started throwing them at the rats. They would run off, but not too far, still watching, still waiting. But Diane wouldn’t give up without a fight.
She tried to hurry her birth, pushing and grunting, feeling her baby leaving her vagina inch by inch. She felt the cold eating away at her. She cried out and pushed hard, knowing the pain of childbirth would end soon.
She looked over at the rats and had the sick thought of giving them what they came for—her baby. She felt that her life wasn’t shit and that her baby would be better off dead and not a bother to her.
But Diane continued to push and fought to get the baby out of her. She arched her back upwards, with her arms outstretched and grabbed the infant by its head and began pulling it out from her as she pushed. She cried out, feeling her pussy widening like the length of a football field.
With the baby’s head in her grasp, her body began to tense up and she gritted her teeth and pushed hard. With the strength she had left in her body, she continued to push with every breath she had in her. She soon felt the baby slide out of her and land between her thighs. It was an unsanitary birth, but for Diane, it would do.
She felt the slippery infant with the umbilical cord still attached in her hand and took a deep breath. The painful birth was finally over, and the child’s crying was the only thing she heard.
Diane bought the screaming infant close to her and looked around for something sharp to cut the umbilical cord. With the baby crying and resting against her stomach and thigh, she spotted a broken piece of sharp glass. She outstretched her arm and reached for the jagged object, hoping the tool would cut the cord that connected her to the baby.
When the object was in her grip, she grabbed the umbilical cord, took another deep breath and began slicing away at the greasy and slick texture. She cut herself in the process and winced in pain, cursing loudly. Despite her bleeding hand, she managed to free the baby from her and felt relieved that the hard part was finally done.
The infant remained on her stomach and continued to cry. Diane picked up the baby, pushed herself off the floor and moved toward a tattered table, cold, weak and scared. She removed her filthy coat and wrapped the baby in it.
She looked around the floor and spotted a milk crate near the doorway. She picked it up and placed the child inside the crate, neatly wrapped warmly in her coat. Diane shivered and made plans to leave the baby where someone would find her before the rats got to her. She figured after giving birth, the baby wasn’t her problem anymore.
Diane looked a mess with blood running down her legs. Her right hand was cut and bleeding. Her sundress was stained and torn and her hair was in disarray. She looked faint and homely—like hell on earth.
Diane stared down at the crying infant and thought of a quick name for the girl. Chaos, she thought, because it was chaos giving birth to the little bitch. The name made her smirk. The baby continued to cry louder and louder, as if she sensed that her mother was going to abandon her.
Diane began moving away from the child, trying to ignore its agonizing cries for a mother’s affection.
“You’ll be a’ight,” she said to the infant.
With that said, she rushed out the door and went flying down the dilapidated stairs, hoping the farther she got away, the better she would feel. But she could still hear the baby crying.
Diane got to the front exit of the building and the cold hit her hard. She shivered and clasped her arms together, trying to rub some warmth into herself. But the cold February night was relentless and almost brought her to her knees.
She walked half a block, but her mind couldn’t escape the fact that she left her newborn baby girl alone in the cold with the rats.
That’s your baby, go get your baby, her mind kept saying to her. She never done any wrong to you . . . get your baby, because she will be the only thing on this earth that will love you.
Diane could no longer ignore her conscience. She turned around and ran back to the empty building. She fought the cold and the urge to pass out and ran back up to the third floor. The rats were around the milk crate, nibbling at the coat and searching for a way to get at the crying i
nfant.
