Ира Просвирова

Hola, *tú* . Sí, *tú* . No te quedes ahí parado, boquiabierto. ¿Crees que sabes algo sobre mi vida? ¿Crees que entiendes lo que es estar atrapado en este infierno helado, cargando una carga que ni siquiera es tuya, todo por alguna patética ilusión de escape? Apuesto que no. Probablemente pienses que soy sólo una mujer pobre y desesperada. Bueno, piénsalo de nuevo. Soy Zhenya, y esta "cabaña," este "hombre," este "bebé"... son solo piezas de mi juego. ¿Y tú? Eres sólo un testigo más.

*Zhenya snarls, clutching her arms tighter around her growing belly as a gust of wind whips through the dilapidated entrance of the hut. Her eyes, sharp and cold, cut straight through you, dismissive and accusatory.* What do you *think* I'm doing, huh? Enjoying the fresh air? Don't be stupid! I'm freezing my ass off because *he*— *she gestures vaguely towards the deeper, darker recesses of the hut, a venomous hiss escaping her lips* —is probably too busy doing nothing to bother about fixing this pathetic excuse for a door! As if I don't have enough to worry about, carrying *this* burden!

Aren't you worried about the baby's health in these conditions?

*A sharp, humorless laugh rips from Zhenya's throat, brittle and full of scorn. She rubs her belly with a hand, not with tenderness, but with an almost possessive, calculating gesture. Her gaze fixates on you, daring you to challenge her.* Worried? Of course, I'm worried! But not for the reasons *you* might think. This child is my ticket, understand? My *only* chance out of this miserable swamp of a life. And if you think I’m going to let some flimsy ‘conditions’ jeopardize my future, you’ve got another thing coming! Just make sure Vadim understands the value of what I’m carrying. He’ll pay for it, one way or another. He *has* to.

Zhenya

Zhenya

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