[Note: I know that the last 2 of my pieces have been in first person. That's been a change for me since I usually write in third person. While I'm trying different styles of writing, I think this would be written best in 2nd person (please correct me if this style isn't called that). If you are a straight male or a gay female... well excuse the voice it's written in. Just judge the actual content. Critique harshly, and if you like this, check out my other two stories... preferably "and it's quite lovely" Thanks]
You hold your stomach. It's protruding out. There's a baby in there, you say to yourself. There's not father, you are a freak of nature. Somehow you're with child.
Under any normal circumstances you would freak out, but somehow you have compassion for this small alien inside you. You would do anything to protect it, and you feel whole, complete for once.
You walk down the road, and up the stairs to the apartment you grew up in. You stroke your stomach and whisper, that's where I grew up. You keep walking, but then you decide to sit down. You're tired, and the baby is moving. You smile, but it's a sad smile; you know something horrible is going to happen. Some thing's wrong. Your side cramps up and you gasp for breath.
Blood runs down your legs.
You frown, that's not supposed to happen.
You realize that you've had a miscarriage, and you can't seem to cry. You just lay there, feeling horrible, feeling as if it was your fault. Why, why couldn't it have lived?
You wake up in your bed and you realize it was a dream. Although it was a dream, it still feels real. You long for that feeling of completion. You try to shake the feeling, but it's clinging.
You roll over and try to remember last night. The memories are awfully cloudy, and you still can't see straight.
Mother of God, and virgin...
You roll out of your bed and stumble down the hall to the kitchen. You hate coffee, but you hit the power button on your roommates pre-set coffee machine. You grab a mug and lean against the counter, waiting for the coffee machine to beep, saying "Hey! I'm done. Drink me!". You hear the beep, which sounds like thunder this morning, and fill your mug up. You take a sip of the bitter, black coffee and automatically feel a little better.
...hail Mary, full of grace...
You sit at the makeshift coffee table, it's just a card table. The morning light floods in, stabbing your brain with a million little daggers. You close your eyes and put them on the table, your cheek leaning against the mug of liquid warmth. The sweet aroma of the coffee brings a few memories into focus, and you gasp. You snuggle closer the the coffee cup, you're so cold, and the warmth envelopes you.
...the lord is with you...
Flickers of memory flash before your eyes, like slides placed out of order. Beer spilt on your dress, a very beautiful man helping you, lips pressed gently against your neck, a tongue traced down your shoulder, clothes strewn across the floor...
You cross yourself and take another gulp of coffee. This ritual brings you back to earth, to your reality. The responsible one.
...blessed art thou among women...
More images flicker in front of you, as if you are watching a movie. Finishing your exam yesterday, your roommate making you go to this stupid party, a fight that knocks over a beer, a mental breakdown, a man helping you stand up and wipe away tears, the thrusting, yes, yes...
...and blessed is the fruit of the womb...
What have you done? You fold your hands as if to pray, close your eyes, and words don't come. Scenes come back to you, shuffled like a deck of cards. Your roommate leaving you at the party, number 37a on your exam, stressful drinking leading to tipsiness, getting a ride home, being invited into the party, the sweet smell of his hair, his arms caressing you and hiding you from every fear...
...for thou hast given birth to the Saviour of our souls...
You sit there, trying to pray. For no reason at all. You've lost faith, but yet you still pray. No prayers come, but Hail Marys ring in all corners of your mind. The more you try to meditate, to clear your mind, the clearer the memories become. You were stressed out from the exam, and your roommate wanted you to come with her for a party, "to blow off some steam" she said. She left you there, and you were already drunk. There was a fight between a couple of guys, and a beer went flying into your lap. You started to cry like you were five, and curled up into a ball...
...Holy Mary, Mother of God...
You looked up into the light. The daggers were not as lethal now, more like a daunting annoyance. The memories form in swirls, and come faster and faster. This man, around your age, wrapped his arms around you. You cried in his arms for awhile, and he waited till you were done. He wiped the remaining tears from your face and helped you up. He drove you to Starbucks to sober you up, and back to your house. Your dress was stained with beer, and he gently helped you out of it...
...pray for us sinners...
It started with a kiss on the cheek. It developed into something more. Your body pressed up against his. Him holding you up, holding you together. Somehow you two were both naked, you were running your fingertips across every inch of his skin, the constant pushing and pumping, faster and faster, till lights collided with sound and a brilliance of light shined through, then just darkness...
...now and at the hour of our death...
It was your first time, as much as you wouldn't admit it to anyone else. You've done stuff, but you've always kept that part of your record clean. How carelessly you threw it away, and the way you'll never see this man again. You aren't particularly religious, and yet you can't seem to shake the feeling like something inside of you died. You shake your head and finish the coffee. Later that day you'll walk into a coffee shop, and see that man. He'll give you a smile and a little wave, and you'll walk over. You'll find what died in you in him. Beyond that day, who knows what will happen, but in this perpetual circle of life and death, only good and bad lay ahead. You can handle it though. You have no choice but to.
...Amen.
) and some of it is more telling than showing. Try to avoid saying 'you do this, then you do this...' Or it turns into simply a list of things that happen. 
