Teratoma

There are a lot of things that can be said about Baby Simone.

“Simone has the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.” Says Grandma. One might say that as the grandmother, she is biased. But it truly is a striking , almost cherubic, visage. The almond shaped eyes with the irises such a dark brown that they are almost indistinguishable from the oily pupils. Rounded rouged cheeks, upturned little rounded nose, everything rounded just right and entirely symmetrical. And, a full set of straight white teeth.

“Abnormal to see a child this age with a full set of adult teeth,” says Dr. Mackledonnie, “but not surprising given the additional unchecked denticulation.” The other teeth, all canines and incisors, jut out from the twisted asymmetric teratoma that surrounds the perfect face. The rest of the baby’s form consists of a grotesque mixture of sharp teeth, bones, carbuncles and furuncles, and kinked ebony hairs. Truncated stumps jut off at random uncomfortable angles from the grotesque hunk of flesh, making for a hideous globster. “The prognosis is not good for this one,” explains Dr. Mackledonnie. “I give it two to three weeks to live given the severity of the deformities and attendant complications. I warned you about this, though.”

“I’m glad you never listened to that doctor’s advice about Simone” proclaims Father John to Mary. “Taking a life, any life, is a mortal sin. You did the right thing in bringing that sweet little child of God into the world. And given the circumstances surrounding her conception,” Father John rolls his eyes toward the sky and inhales deeply, “she is truly a miracle.” He makes the sign of the cross and mutters something unintelligible to himself. Despite his words, Father John is unable to bring himself to look at the baby. When Mary leaves, John makes the sign of the cross and scrubs his hands and face in the baptismal font like a surgeon prepping for a procedure.

“The priest is right, that baby is a miracle,” says Mary’s boyfriend, Joe. Joe is a dumb-fuck. But, he helps Mary with her expenses. Mary told him that Simone’s conception was immaculate so that she wouldn’t have to confess to Joe that she had been screwing different guys at the community college. “I want to wait until I’m married,” she told him, kissing him on the forehead, “it really means a lot to me that you are so understanding of my convictions.” Joe bought her ridiculous story. He also bought her groceries and paid the meager rent that Mary’s mother and step-father charged her to stay in their house. Meanwhile, Joe is content with cuddles, back rubs and the occasional session of dry-humping that Mary will sometimes tolerate. “But Simone still gives me the heebie-jeebies,” says Joe as he pulls his booted foot away from the baby’s snapping teeth. Joe always wears boots around the baby now, ever since having to pry its mouth off of his nearly severed big toe with a fireplace poker.

“YIPE!”said Lemonjello, the long haired Chihuahua, when Simone’s mouth locked onto the her throat, irreparably crushing the poor dog’s trachea. By the time Joe pried Simone’s powerful jaws from the toy dog’s throat with the fire poker, Lemonjello had already passed on to the great Chihuahua circus in the sky and the molars on the right side of the baby’s mouth were thoroughly chipped.

“She ate Chim-Chim! I hate that fucking baby!” says Shannon, Mary’s sister. “If she touches any of my other pets, I’ll throw her in the bathtub with a plugged-in hair dryer.” And Simone did in fact eat Chim-Chim, Shannon’s favorite guinea pig. Just climbed right up in the cage and feasted on the fur and gamey rodent meat. Once again, Joe and his impotent poker could do little to timely separate Simone from her victim. By the time the flaccid fire tool broke Simone away, the baby had ingurgitated the upper two thirds of the cavia porculus, leaving the mangled sanguinary mess that was Chim-Chim’s hindquarters.

“There is no verifiable correlation between our products and the birth defects apparent on this unfortunate child,” say the corporations who manufacture the toys, furniture, foodware, and jewelry laden with lead and toxic plastics. “It is an unfortunate situation, to which we have no connection,” say the food manufacturers with their genetically engineered food and animals, their bovine growth hormones, their pesticides. “We can find no scientific link between the helpful medications we manufacture and the results in this particular case,” say the pharmaceutical companies that pump the populace full of dangerous viruses, mercury, superfluous antibiotics that create superinfections, and woefully under tested medications which are summarily approved by the FDA. The corporations and various governmental agencies all agree and say: “It’s not our fault and nobody can prove that it is.”

“It’s your fault, Mary,” says Mary’s stepfather, Cephus. “I warned you about your evil ways. Premarital relations with dirty boys. Flaunting your dirty pillows. Listening to that Giggle-Jazz. Hanging out with beatnicks and minorities.” Spittle sprays from his contorted mouth as Cephus emphasizes the word minorities. “The Lord has smote you with a hateful, venomous little devil baby. You have fornicated with the Demon Zorn. That little aberration is gonna chew right through your neck some night and send you to explain yourself to the man above.”

“She really does have a beautiful face,” says Grandma again. She tends to repeat herself just in case nobody heard her the first time.

“I love you so much, Baby,” says Mary to her daughter as she lifts a tiny pink feeder mouse from the glass tank beside her seat. Mary’s pinched fingers dangle the wriggling morsel above Simone’s open and waiting mouth, like a mama bird feeding a hungry baby. In the split second of the drop of the mouse, Simone catches the feeder and crunches its puny head between her mighty molars. “Yes I do. I love Baby Simone this much,” Mary says, spreading her arms as far apart as possible. Simone coos, swallows her snack, and gives her mother the most beautiful smile.