I stand in the small, cramped cubicle of a Tesco' toilet. This isn't what an ordinary, fifteen year old girl should be doing on a normal Saturday afternoon.

I should be out with my friends. Shopping till I drop and spending endless hours sipping frothy, warm cappuccinos in sociable Starbucks. But I’m not an ordinary girl and this isn’t a normal day. From this moment on, as soon as I step out of these grimy toilets, my life could change forever. No more going to wild parties on Friday nights, or smoking my roll ups or long lay-ins.

As all these images rush through my head at a thousand miles per hour, I remember the £3 pregnancy test that I’m clutching in my clammy hand. Did I take it right? What about the stupid tw*t that did this to me in the first place? What the hell am I going to tell him? Have I well and truly fu***d up my life? It is unclear at first, but the more I stare at it under the glare of the cubicle strip light, the more a line slowly appears. A little blue line. Positive.

Here I float, curled and arched in my amniotic sac, breathing life into my mother’s womb. Cacooned in a loving, pleasant heat. I lie in a nourishing, thick liquid, cushioning me, protecting me. I have one strong bond with her, the umbilical cord that connects her to me.

I desperately take a large slug of cider as I hide in my dimly lit room and reflect on my insignificant, measly life. A complete waste of space. Staring blankly at my flat stomach, I think to myself; it’s in there growing, draining me. Who the hell does it think it is? Another slug of cider. That one night, a fumble, a split moment of…I can’t remember, was it passion? Now there’s this unwanted being inside me. Ruining the dreams I was desperately clinging onto. They’re melting now. Dripping through my hands and I won’t be able to retrieve them. One last gulp of cider slides down into my stomach, intoxicating my body and the parasite residing here.

Disturbing, new sensations are welling up inside me. It has become a struggle for me to keep my tiny, ‘almost eyelids’ open. My miniscule body cannot be bothered to flip and turn into exciting positions as it did, only days before. Now, I seem to move in slow motion, as if time has frozen. The warmth of the amniotic fluid has gone now. I’m left chilled with a feeling of numbing and lifelessness lethargy.

I’ve made my decision. It’s Monday morning. Should be in P.E, yet I’m here, rushing down the busy high street. Thoughts hurling through my messed up head. Too many questions I can’t seem to find any answers to. GCSE exams are quickly looming and I imagine how I would try and cope with the pressure of those and a child… it’s too much. Passing these stressful tests is probably my last opportunity to prove to everyone whoever doubted me that I’m NOT going to end up a waster.

Catching a quick glance of my reflection in a glossy shop window is a bad idea. Oh my god, look at the state of me? Thick, purple bags lie under bloodshot eyes; a reflection of infinite nights, tossing and turning in a bitter cold bed. My smock top from Primark seems to hang like a potato sack from my body. There is no bump, but I know it’s there, dragging me down, my pelvis heavy, like my head. Cautiously, I move towards the large, double doors that tower over me. Above, in huge steel letters are the daunting words ‘Women’s Health Clinic’.

Something is different. Something is happening outside. Adrenaline levels are quickly rising. The feeling is so powerful, I drain as it strengthens. And with one last surge of overwhelming energy…blackness. I thought she loved me. I thought she wanted to see me blossom into a beautiful being. I was wrong. A thick, noxious cloud swamps over me, pulling me into its infinite abyss. Nothingness.

She’d be 5 years old now. Anna Rose, my daughter. She could have been a stunning child. Golden blonde or chestnut brown hair? Would she have been a prima ballerina or perhaps the next Hollywood star? Her voice, what would it sound like? I never got the chance to witness the first words to escape her lips. That magical moment. Mama? My child, the love of my life… lost forever.

Jenny Sturrock