It isn't difficult to look away, cover one's eyes, ignore anything unsettling. This is something that a young woman should ignore. Don't look.

By definition, anything that is undefined is also undefinable. Is an experience that a human being has, undefinable? If it can be defined, then why is it not? Why is it lost in a hushed fear of controversy? Why is not the experience able to become defined?

Rosemary was fifteen and she had become pregnant and she was the victim of a crime and all of that was defined. If she wanted to become a mother all she had to do was wait. She didn't want to become a mother, and certainly not the mother of a baby conceived the way her baby was conceived. It was just a fetus, though, don't forget.

'While abortion is legal it is culturally unacceptable', Rosemary believed, and she said to herself: "Christians will hate you for it. You are killing your baby. It is your choice. It is just a fetus." Rosemary was sick of all of it.

And morning sick too. This was not their experience, it was her experience.

Her world, her body. Her choice. Nobody needed to be telling her anything, good or bad, for or against. Everybody just needed to shut up and let her finish throwing up. And flush.

She started brushing her teeth. It was a long bus ride. She was afraid of the emotions that went with the ride. She didn't trust her emotions. Every damn thing was all over the place. Choice? What choice? What was there to choose?

"I never got a choice." She reminded herself.

She somehow hated those that were leaving it up to her to decide. Everyone-in-general. Anyone who supported her or stood in her way was wrong; somehow everyone was wrong. They didn't really know anything; they were just being tacky and ignorant and assuming they knew what was up.

How could anyone say this wasn't a baby in her? How could they say it was wrong to kill it? Both sides were just assuming they knew what they were talking about.

"It's me, just me." Rosemary protested the support and the protest. They were both wrong. Society, an evil entity, people assuming the roles of the Other, of the royal 'They' needed for controversy. It was the real evil behind all of this: the conflict itself and the hatred and fear it generated.

The truth was not complicated for Rosemary.

At fifteen years old, in this state, no parental consent is needed. Or wanted; this is something that belongs to Them, to the Others. The ones we always call 'They' when we say things like "You know, They always say that a young woman is responsible for her own body, can make her own choices. It is a matter of choice, of freedom, of control over one's own body. Reproductive rights."

So what exactly are They, anyway? Certainly They are not human. She pondered all of this in a convoluted stream of consciousness that was hard to follow. Why should it be easy? What is worthwhile that is also easy? Anything?

She wondered what They were, these things with eyes and white masks over their mouths and noses. They have these machines They use, and needles. It is terrifying. Much worse than the day she actually became pregnant. That had happened, it was horrible, but this was much worse. This was not natural and instinctively she was very afraid. Who were these, or what were these, with the masks?

Masks a convention of the Other. The Other hides behind the mask. When They were doctors and nurses and social workers these masked ones were human, no masks. Now they all wore masks, even her. Rosemary wanted to scream, but the drugs had made her calm. She was screaming inside, but she just laid there, defenseless, unable to now change the course of the ritual.

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And now it was like a ritual as the nurse used two hands to deliver a tool to the doctor. Rosemary felt a chill as the doctor took the tool, white gold and gleaming, a sacrificial knife.

"No." she uttered, lips trembling weakly behind her mask. Like a dream that could not be awoken from. Like a waking nightmare, the suffocation of night terror. This was no dream, under that bright light.

That is how she imagined her abortion would be. The crazy people in the parking lot had burned the image into her psyche of horror and revulsion. The pictures of blood soaked fetus on signs were not their tactic. They simply stood there and looked at her, their protest was pleading and warning her of stepping into a dark world of nightmares and terror. They would have scared her less with 'dead baby porn', but their gentle gestures towards a loss of innocence was far more frightening, somehow.

Nobody needed to blow up abortion clinics, they belonged entirely to the world. It would be the same as taking offense to a graveyard or a retirement home. Their evil was natural and needed no violent demonstration. There was simply nothing more to say. But there was so much more to say, after-all.

Rosemary was inside and the place was nothing like she expected. There was no danger, no controversy, no secrets. Here the devil was chained up and served mankind like a cartoon fry-cook. A harmless genie with a scalpel.

Her eyes stared at the form with dyslexic abandon. Watery eyes, emotional from surviving and not sleeping afterwards. The world wasn't safe and doing this would make it no safer. She knew this.

It was the fact that she could, if she actually wanted to. Rosemary wondered if anyone ever actually got an abortion, or if they just sat here with the form and cried in this safe and quiet place.

"Fucking-Hell." she cursed the blank television next to the fake plant. She meant it too. She had never actually sworn before, it felt kinda good, actually.

"You alright?" Someone was asking her.

"I have an appointment. I already filled all this shit out. Shit." Rosemary told the shade. It shifted back into the shadows.

"I see. Just fill it out anyway and then we can get you checked in."

"No. I don't think I will. No, you go ahead and fuck yourself, Ma'am." Rosemary responded.

Several moments went by and Rosemary looked up and noticed the lady was standing there waiting for her to fill out the form on the clipboard. She started filling it out, but her handwriting kept vexing her.

"You okay?" The person standing there asked Rosemary. There was nothing condescending at all, in her voice, but Rosemary did feel some edginess in the conversation.

"What is wrong with my handwriting?" She wondered trying to ignore the woman next to her.

She finally finished filling out the form and then refused to hand it over. "It is my choice whether to do this or not?"

"Of course."

"So then I can change my mind if I want to?"

This just got a blank stare for a response from Ms. Interruption. Blinking.

"This all looks fine. You ready to come back?"

"I think I will wait here for now." Rosemary decided, belligerently. She was tired of all the pressure she was feeling. She just wanted to feel safe and this had all started to make her very uneasy. The more comfortable they tried to make her the less comfortable she felt.

"Do you need to reschedule?" They asked, staring. Her eyes had that weird shade in them again, like she herself was tired of her own game. And it was a game, wasn't it?

"I want to see it first. And nobody touches me unless I say it's okay." Rosemary insisted.

This got a positive reaction and she was led by the brighter Ms. Interruption, to where it would be. It was a very small operating room with generic pictures of flowers in frames. Everything was simple and discreet and painted in the most blighted colors she had ever seen. She wasn't sure if it was green, brown or gray, so pale and pointless it was.

"The doctor is in the room right there."

"I want to see that room too." Rosemary insisted.

"Sorry but it is off limits." Ms. Interruption told her. "But you can look inside from here, if you need to see."

"See what?" Rosemary felt it again, some touch of the Other, something about to be changed by a mask. It was here, a sensation of letting go, of choosing dignity instead of shame. Of being particularly proud of the 'courage' to make a choice. Even a wrong choice.

"What is the matter?"

"Does anyone ever actually go through with it?" Rosemary was trembling.

"Why yes, all the time. It is going to be alright, it doesn't hurt at all." Ms. Interruption had a voice that was distant, strange. It didn't make any sense.

"I change my mind. I don't want to. I say no." Rosemary's eyes watered with tears. She wasn't one of Them, she was going to be somebody's mother. She had never felt so sincere about anything. The thought of taking one more step had filled her heart with far more dread than the worry of becoming a teenage mother. A victim of Man's World. Better than this, somehow.

"You have the right to do that, still. Nothing you signed took that right away. You will still have to pay, and insurance won't cover you now if you leave." Ms. Interruption had changed her tone after-all.

"That is fine." Rosemary was already walking away. "I quit. You can keep the money."