Notes

I don't know how long I was alive before I became conscious of myself. Time isn't something you pay attention to right after you're born, and especially not when you're giving into the all-consuming need to eat and survive. All I know is this: I come into awareness suddenly. One moment I'm just there, with nothing but fuzzy memories of hunger to mark the first part of my life.

There's something raw and bloody in my hands. My face feels sticky in the same way that my fingers do. The hunger has abated slightly, but I'm still starving. It feels as though there's a chasm inside of me that's too large to be filled. Yet I still eat, because how can I do anything else?

I take small bites of the thing in my hands as I explore my surroundings. Everything I see is tinted blue or black, and I can't make out any details until I get close to something. My feet are sensitive when I walk; I use them to feel for where I'm stepping. I wonder if my hands are the same way, but I decide that I'm too invested in my meal to spare a hand to figure it out.

It's soft, wherever I am. There are strings of light crisscrossed everywhere, creating a cloud of whatever-this-is that I find I can navigate effortlessly. The light is dim, though, like dying embers, and pulses faintly, slowly. That pulse is important; I don't know why, but I can feel it. Something inside of me compels me to find the source.

My hunger is temporarily forgotten, and that alone tells me how serious this is. I put down my food and start walking. Every few steps, I stop and tap my foot on the strings. Most of the vibrations peter out on their own, but some of them stop suddenly. This tells me that I'm heading in the right direction.

Eventually I find a thing that isn't part of the endless whiteness surrounding me. The thing is moving slightly; breathing, I realize. With this realization comes another: the thing is alive, and that spurs me to move faster. I carefully settle myself at its side and, reaching out a hesitant hand, I touch it.

Eyes open very near to my own, and I startle backwards. The thing doesn't do anything but watch me, though, so I study it. It has a long, thin body with four protrusions. Arms and legs, something inside of me whispers. These extremities are covered with the same blood that is on my own hands and face. The thing is trembling.

My eyes move up the length of the thing's body, noting the smooth, shell-like skin, the curved claws at the ends of its fingers, the lipless mouth from which wicked fangs protrude. And then I reach the thing's eyes. They are huge, round pools of inky blackness, unbroken except by the reflection of the light that surrounds us. The eyes are soft, the mouth smiling lightly. Looking into those eyes, I feel my first emotion, and the force of it takes my breath away.

This thing loves me.

I want answers. With the discovery of this thing, I have realized that there might be more. I am inside of something; there might be more outside, and I yearn to know what it is. But I don't know how to communicate this, so all that leaves my throat is a scratchy, confused whine, thick with the blood that coats my throat.

"You are confused," the thing says, its voice soft.

"You are confused?" I repeat, my pronunciation awkward.

"No, you would refer to yourself as 'I'," the thing says. "Say, I am confused."

"I am confused," I repeat, and the thing's smile widens. My face mirrors the expression.

The thing lifts one of its hands towards me and I tense instantly, the smile dropping off my face, but the thing makes an odd shushing noise and I still and let it touch me. Its hand cups the side of my face--my cheek--and the thumb strokes under my eye.

"I am so sorry to leave you so soon," the thing murmurs, and I frown for a different reason this time. My heartbeat speeds up; I start to breathe faster, and I can't seem to calm myself.

"I am confused!" I cry out. To my shock, something wet but not sticky gathers in my eyes. It stings, but wiping them with my bloody hands stings even worse, so I let the liquid gather and fall down my face. The things wipes it away, but more follows, and soon it gives up.

"You're feeling panic," the thing says. "You don't want me to leave, do you?" For some reason, that makes it smile widely, so widely that I can see its blood-stained teeth. "I'm afraid I must. I'm dying, my love."

It moves its arm and reveals wide, bloody, gaping holes in its body. I make a wounded sound, a pain stabbing through me even though I'm not physically hurt. I point to the wounds and make the sound of confusion again.

"You want to know what happened?" the thing guesses. Its eyes turn sad. "Well, you were hungry, and I'm your mother. How could I have stopped you from feeding?"

Mother. The word holds significance. All of a sudden, the thing in front of me isn't merely a thing, but a she. And I'm shocked to find that I love her. More liquid falls from my eyes.

"Don't cry, my love," my mother says gently. "This is the way it is; I knew that when you first came into this world. I've made my peace with it, and you must, too."

I shake my head, but I don't let my eyes leave hers. They remain dry, but they are filled with sorrow. Somehow, I know that sorrow is on my behalf, not hers.

"Mother," I say. My voice hurts when I speak, and the word comes out wrong. Croaky.

"My name is Savra," my mother says. "Yours is Elin. Don't tell it to anyone except those you think are truly special. Special to you like I am."

I doubt that anyone will ever be as special to me as she is. I sob.

"I don't want you to leave," I say. She smiles.

"You're a fast learner, aren't you? That will serve you well when you leave this place." Her voice trails off weakly and her eyes flutter shut. Her chest is barely moving.

My eyes widen. "Mother?" I say, my voice trembling. "Savra?"

Her eyes open, but only halfway. She sucks in a rattling breath that makes my chest feel cold.

"I love you," she says with some effort. "I forgive you for this."

And then she's gone, with even less ceremony than the bites of food I'd swallowed earlier. No, the bites of her I'd swallowed earlier. I look at the thing in my hands with disgust and throw it away from me, and then I bow my head over my mother's body and cry.

Some time later, the hunger returns. I try to block it out, because the only thing in here to eat is my mother's body, but I am a slave to my instincts. Savra is still a little warm when I take my first bite. Her blood is a little thick for my tastes, but the meat is sweet and juicy. I eat. Soon, I will leave this place, but for now, I can honor my mother's memory by letting her care for me one last time as a mother should.

And once I accepted that, eating came easier. I admit, waking up to find that you've cannibalized your mother, watching said mother die, and then feasting on her corpse is a hell of a way to give any child permanent trauma, but I guess it's just par for the course for my species.