Daily Freewrite - The Mark

Finding out my wife was pregnant was the happiest moment of my life. The masters told us it was to be a girl bearing the mark of a saint. The mark of the saint was the greatest mark a newborn child could have. It signified that they would be a shining beacon of hope, to aid humanity in ushering in a new golden age. I was a lowly factory worker and my daughter - MY daughter - was to be someone great. I swear I did not stop smiling all those long 9 months. I was the envy of my peers and was met with glares of admiration everywhere I went. The day had finally arrived. This day was going to go south so fast, and I did not even know it. My wife went into labor and in 8 long hours, gave birth to our baby girl. I held her in my arms. She was the sweetest thing I had ever laid eyes on. Such purity and innocence, unparalleled to anything I had ever known. She was perfect. She was mine. The doctors and I watched with anticipation as her mark began to form. "That doesn't look like the mark of the saint," said one of the doctors. I watched in horror as the unthinkable happened. My baby girl had the blood mark on her forehead. This mark signified that the bearer would commit unspeakable atrocities and unthinkable acts of mass slaughter and genocide. The masters were wrong - dead wrong. She would have to be put down. I cried out in lamentation. I was angry. Angry with the masters, angry with my wife, even angry with God. My beautiful child would become a vessel of maniacal horror, and for that, she couldn't be left alive.

CM