A Glimpse into the Maternal Instinct
By Noel Buwan
I turn on the cold water from the kitchen sink and let it run. I haven’t even touched the water, yet a chill runs down my back. I try to slow my racing heartbeat with deep, slow breaths.
You made it look simple. You told me to try it.
I hold the airtight plastic casing over the sink with my left hand and slide the scissors down with my right. The uneven slit swerves into the side stitching, forming a slanted, S-shaped incision. When I place the scissors beside me on the counter, the casing slips a quarter way off the flesh. But I’m impatient. I grip its legs and yank the casing off. A hollow, bloodless oval plops down onto the steel rack of the sink. It rolls over from the impact, and I see a valve.
A heart. My own heart sinks at the sight.
I avert my eyes to the perfectly plucked white flesh. It glistens like a newborn, minus the blood. I begin to wash off the clear, odorless slime when another organ drops into the sink. I can’t tell exactly what it is this time. Like the heart, it’s also fleshy pink. Yet it’s shaped like a stretched-out rubber football. I wonder….what did it do when it was still attached and alive?
It doesn’t matter now. I toss both the heart and mystery organ into the trash bin.
Then my paranoia creeps in. There’s probably more, I think to myself. My breathing quickens, and vignettes of gory horror movies flash in my mind.
You didn’t tell me this would happen. Why can’t you understand that I can’t stand the sight of insides coming out?
I shake the body and rinse it all over until I’m sure there’s nothing. Ten minutes later, I shut off the faucet. No slime, no scent, no residual entrails. A newly cleansed carcass hangs from my hand. My stomach feels queasy—this is the closest I’ll ever get to experiencing a C-section.
Is this why you taught me? To get me to get a glimpse of what it’s like? But this one is neither of us nor from us. Don’t you see? You may not have trouble coming in, but what may come out of me may be worse than what comes out of this dead chicken.
I heave out a sigh and squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them again, I place the carcass on our wooden cutting board and pat it dry with paper towels. I tuck it into a bed of salt within our dutch oven and shower its raw flesh with lime leaves.
A fresh and whole chicken will be ready for us.
Just wait.
**Author's Note: Please note that no part of this 100% original, human-produced text may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of literary/creative theft and/or the training of any AI technologies/systems. Please support human creativity!
© January 24, 2026. Revised May 8, 2026. Noel Buwan. All Rights Reserved.