THE BABY MILL [[{SHINee}]]

THE BABY MILL [[15]] WOMB

His body had settled down to a normal state at last. Or at least that was what they told him. Onew didn’t remember much about what had happened. He remembered feeling like steel clamps were squishing the sides of his stomach and like acid was being poured down the back of his body but other than that he had no recollection of the events that had transpired. It was a blank slate with the faint etchings of the past that were too shallow for him to read. Sometime during the rush his feet had left the floor and he had floated down a very dark tunnel - which he knew; he’d been on his way to destination nowhere.

            When he had awoken he was in his room again. A mountain of pillows had surrounded him like the snow that surrounded the tip of Mount Everest which wasn’t all too unusual. Dr. Park had always favourite him over the other boys for reasons that both held true and strong individually; for reasons that he would never willingly admit out loud any longer.

 Despite the pillows cushioning his aching body, though, he still felt uneasy. It might have been the fault of the stitched up laceration cutting down the center of his abdomen. Or it might have been the fact that he’d enlarged his dysfunctional family and hadn’t even been conscious to beg the doctor to let him meet the new addition. He was somewhat ashamed to admit that he had groveled at the doctor’s side in one of his maddened, drug enhanced states after giving birth to who knew which number baby. It wasn’t easy letting go of something that was a par t of you. And his donor and the woman whose organs allowed him to nurture the embryo to the deformed body it probably was born with.

            Which number had that child been? Three? Four? The ratios tagged to Onew were totally out of wack… If it weren’t for Dr. Park’s affection for him and constant pampering he probably would be behind the locked doors with the other failures whose corpses were fermenting in their own filth.

            Lucky, lucky him… He was a pedigree breed in a pack of mutts. Too bad it didn’t change the fact that he had to go through insemination processes just like the rest of them. He’d heard once somewhere that they did fertilization with bulls sometimes. They would cage them up into tiny areas and arouse them by putting an “attractive” cow in their line of vision. From there, the bull would get so excited that he would try to mount the female, even though she was divided into a separate pen and out of reach. In that one instant where he raised onto his hind quarters, though, the vets managed to get a whole load of sperm which they would sell off to the person with the most suitable bovine and highest bid. Onew felt a bit like that. Unlike the other experiment boys he was that cow; he was the cow that received the prized sperm of the mightiest bull with the biggest, sharpest horns.

            Top notch.

            It was oh so fun being number one.

            If only.

            His special treatment was limited to an extra caring touch from the big boss, unfortunately. He never got to meet his children, or breathe fresh air… What he received was an unbelievable amount of dislocated and broken hip bones and crushed pelvises. He got to sit through hours and hours of pain where sometimes it got so unbearable that he had difficulties swallowing his own saliva. He got to withstand cramps that grew so intolerable that he actually gasped with each twist of his body. He got to wake up to puddles of blood in his ironed pants (one of the “valuable” aspects to his high standing) that were such a bright red that he was still too terrified to stare at it for more than just a quick moment. He got to live with the fact that the father to his demented children was the man who was murdering and plotting and manipulating the innocent and playing God when he was nothing but a mere mortal.

            Special all right.

            When things started to look extremely dull, the depressing atmosphere was interrupted by the squeaking of the door hinges. A welcome distraction until Onew realized exactly what came with the faulty door. He should never have gotten his hopes up because the line of people that filed into the room with their intimidating sneers and haughty expressions. They held absolutely no care in the way they shoved the door open, letting it pound loudly against the rubber ball that stopped it from hitting the bricks directly. The sound echoed around the bare room, throbbing painfully in Onew’s ears.