by Adam Breckenridge
The birth of his child was one of the few reasons they would ever let David out of his cell. He knew that what little bits of freedom they allowed him here and there were things that were supposed to be cherished but he wasn’t quite sure what to do with freedom. He knew he should want it; that it was better than the life he lived and that if he were ever given a chance to have it, that it was something to be taken. But the concept was as alien to him as sight was to a man born blind.
The last time they had let him out of his cell was when they had led him into another room to lay with a woman, a pleasure that was only allowed to him because of how important it was that he have a son. The first two times he’d lain with a woman she had given birth to daughters who were taken away, never to be seen by him again. They would be allowed their freedom. It was the sons who had to carry on the burden of the family’s obligation and if the child being born today were a son then David would never know the touch of a woman again. So must it be. The thought of rebellion had never more than tingled at his mind, nearly as difficult a concept as freedom. He had even thought before that if he killed himself he would be freeing his successors of their suffering – but also denying them the opportunity to exist at all. He didn’t know if he had the right to do that or not.