That rainy night, a humble woman on her thirties, pregnant, knew that her time had come.

Alone, with her clothes dirty and wet, she rested on one side of the road. She felt the cold swamped floor and the softness of the slop on her elbows, but just for a moment, because the pain of the contractions made future and past to disappear and just and endless, tormented present existed.

With her sight clouded, exhausted with that long journey, she fought against her own being and pushed. A heartrending pain, greater than anything she could ever conceive invaded her body.

Her heart stopped. She closed her eyes and rested forever.

But that unstoppable stream that is life was still there and that being that was not yet, knew that he was at that moment. The need for something he didn’t know existed yet, put in motion those arms never exercised before. A kicking that before had drawn smiles on the face of a woman now dead, made this new creature to slit inside her womb. His soft fingers clung with an unnatural strength to the placenta and tore it. Fighting against the jelly entourage his extremities met the world, later his head. A loud screech filled the road and those lungs with air. The rest of his body witnessed the cold and the rain.

I just waked up soaked in sweat. No one witnessed this deterring story. That is why there is no way to know if it really happened, but for the same reason I have no arguments to doubt its truthfulness. Today I know my past.