Do you suppose

"Do you suppose," she asked with a glint of the bleeding gashes that tore across the sunset's sky surrounding her irises, "that our children might have it better?" I smiled, shallow and Cheshire; my hand clenched hers into a fist from its as if such a gesture had the power to ward off the creeping horripilation that began to overpower me. At that moment, my breath betrayed me; I knew that the best place for our children didn't exist but in the brackish pond of non-existence; that to tear a life from its depths was nothing but a horrible condemnation to bleed. And yet, I proceeded. When I overcame my stasis, when I was rescued from merciful unthinking, I absolved myself of any thought of worth, and from my lips the voiceless vacuum of the air drew my response. Pulling her close, I quelled the shivers upon my skin and into her hair I carved a chest, like that of Pandora. "I'm sure of it," was the treasure that I cast into the crucible and a loving kiss, the message's paradox, was the lock with which it was sealed.