Simon

Tokophobia.

Thats the word I was raised with.

Thats the word I grew up with.

"Simon your mom has Tokophobia."

"Your mom just isn't here right now."

"She can't see you today, okay Simon?"

Tokophobia, the fear of childbirth.

Fear can be so deadly, It can destroy you mentally and physically. Trust me, I've witnessed it, and I think I could be experiencing it.

I am Simon Reyes. I am 18. I have straight shaggy black hair that gets in my eyes a lot. It's not like people will miss much though, they are just brown, like mud.

My father, Clayton Reyes, is a professional programmer for all the security systems. It's a great paying job that allows him to work from home which benefits my mom greatly. He's a studious and quiet man that never lets loose or has the tiniest bit of fun.

My life was full of educational lessons day after day. My dad would give me puzzles, but not the fun ones. Crosswords, word searches, paradoxes, similes, any literature devices you can think of. I used and labeled daily.

"Just because you shouldn't be here doesn't mean you can't make it worth it."

That one phrase, the only one he would say to me every time he saw me get frustrated at a word, or wanted to use the bathroom or get a snack. Any ounce of annoyance in my voice he would push his glasses down his nose, look at me, and say those 14 words that are now permanently in my brain.

Then there's my mom, who I barely remember what she looks like. She never got out of bed after giving birth to me. She has Tokophobia, and my whole life span has included both of my parents making sure I knew that.

After giving birth to my sister Kaitlynn Reyes, and my brother, Ryland Reyes, the life halting law was put in place shortly after.

My dad traveled everywhere making deals to buy protection and precautionary pills to prevent another child. They were a stickler for rules.

Either a condom broke or the pill was taken too late because, surprise! Here I am!

The conflicts that come with the announcement of a third child is one, there shouldn't be one, two you can't get a legal abortion without being found guilty of carrying a third child, and three the punishment if found is death for the whole family including other siblings even if they are out of the house.

My mom's ancestors were known for schizophrenia and dementia so when she found out she was pregnant with a third child she completely lost it.

Some days are good, she'll let me go in her room and hug her and tell her about my day. She won't reply or hug back or anything but at least it looks like she's listening.

Then there are days where you hear glass shattering and pounding on the crimson white door that locks on the outside.

She wears diapers, and my dad hand feeds her. I can't help but feel guilty all the time and no one ever helped me feel better or reassured. Until I met Ralph.

Ralph, someone like me, someone forbidden.

One day I got a notification on my coded laptop I got from my dad. He said a good friend of his made them with his codes and cheats. They collaborated on computers for forbidden children. My dad, the one who has never shown me fatherly love, helped make a computer to make my life feel more normal.

I wish I could make him proud, but I doubt it will ever happen especially since we weren't supposed to contact each other. That was the one condition. The one condition we all failed.

All of our codes are in each other's laptops so when Ralph hit something by accident It made all our codes combine creating a group chat. With people like us.

It's our safe place. The one place we can talk, laugh, act like kids like we should be able to just as everyone else.

I even helped make it possible by creating our own dialect using the knowledge of codes I gained from my dad. So if any government systems did get into it, the conversations would be very hard to decipher.

We've been talking for three years, through screens, creating more and more fond memories that I'll cherish forever.

There were 40 of us. Now there's 8. It shows how lucky we are, it truly does.

We invented more and more rules building a foundation for our online house.

For instance, we all have to time in and time out. Basically sending a quick message in the morning letting everyone know you are still connected to the chat, and well... still alive. Then a text goodnight representing you surviving another day. Some of us talk to each other throughout the day while others do who knows what, but everyone follows the rules. Which is ironic since we are a result of rule-breaking.

I have bad days too, guess I get that from my mom. Sometimes the chat is the only reason I'll get up in the morning. Then I proceed to drown in my sorrow about how my dad only talks to me when I have to do educational shit, and how other times he's processing how a little baby destroyed the love of his life.

The guilt eats me alive. Theres photo albums, a bunch of them in the attic, where I hide. Whenever I'm bored, and Ralph is doing something, I'll flip through them. My mom was beautiful. Gorgeous red hair that flowed flawlessly with daunting caramel eyes, and how my dad looked at her in all the photos. What they had was beautiful. They traveled the world with Kaitlynn and Ryland. Smiling, laughing, having adventures. Then the pictures stop. No more Albums. No pictures of me. I destroyed their life.

The worst part is that they have to take care of me. They can't even kick me to the curb, or abandon me in a trash can. Security will look for them until the end of time, then they would have to be the ones hiding. Just having a forbidden child makes you a wanted criminal.

It's dreading to think, "They only kept you because you damaged their life enough."

But I do. I think that all the time. It consumes me.

Autophobia. That's the word I didn't just grow up with or hear throughout my life. I am that word.

The fear of being alone.

It sends shivers down my body, makes my blood run cold, gives me cold sweats, and makes me sick to my stomach when I know I'm going to die in this attic. I am going to be here forever. My soul, spirit, and body. In this damp, dusty, isolated room in the roof for all of eternity. No one will care enough to remove my body until it smells. Then my dad will bury me and make sure to show my mom to hopefully snap her out of her trance. They'll be happy again, and Simon will just be a whisper heard in the strongest of winds. No one will even know they stepped out of line.

That was me, those were my thoughts. I would never find love like my parents did. I would never have someone to take care of. I would never have mini Simon's running around. I would be nobody. Just matter taking up space.

Until I got a coded message from Ralph, an address, to his grandpas house in the woods of Utah. He wanted to meet everyone. He wants to bring us all together. Maybe he's lonely too.

I smiled at the thought.

That night I packed a small bag with granola bars and clothes. Another plus of breaking rules is you'll get caught if you place security up for them when they aren't supposed to be there in the first place.

I slid down the stair railing since our house is old and it creeks. I ran past my moms door but something stopped me.

I haven't entered the room since I was nine. She hasn't had a good day since I was nine. I opened the door slowly. She was up, rocking in her chair looking at the moon through the window.

"Mom, I'm leaving. No more fear okay? You didn't have me. I was never here okay?" I breathed in deeply.

She kept rocking. No movement, no acknowledgment of my presence.

I turned around slowly hoping she'll at least say,  "I love you baby." Like she used to when I was saying good night and she had a good day in my toddler stages.

No words were exchanged that night as I snuck out the back window into the depths of the dark forest that surrounded our house for the last time.