I had a nightmare last night.
Alas, as all dreams are, I can't rember them; only the vague emotions felt during the dream. And through that night, an oh-so-familiar horror had gripped my heart.
It's probably a nightmare related to the months of isolation with my sister.
Grumble-!
Clutching my stomach in annoyance, I waited in bed for my mother to co feed . The pangs of hunger shredding my stomach from the inside out are no longer enough to destroy ; I've gotten used to it.
I don't have much to look forward to because I already know what the schedule is. Today's schedule will be sothing along these lines:
Mother enters.
Mother apologises.
Mother feeds .
Mother washes and changes .
Mother takes to the gardens.
Mother takes to the recliner.
Mother scratches my neck sowhere along the way.
I sleep.
That's my day.
Nothing more, nothing less; a repetition of a new form of boredom.
The human mind is more versatile than I realised, a while ago I thought the gardens would be enough to entertain forever; now, however...
I need sothing new.
It's too boring.
I want to see my sister again.
I've gone from one prison to another, and this one is worse than the old one.
As I complained, the doors to the bedroom groaned open; as always, mother ca in with a bottle and an apologetic look on her face; if my mory serves correctly...
Sweetie! I'm so sorry, I completely forgot to feed you!
"Sweetie! I'm so sorry, I completely forgot to feed you!"
The sa words as always ca flying out unashad from mother's mouth.
Unlike in the past, I didn't bother giving her a response, I rely reached my arms out towards the bottle of warm milk.
Just give the damn food.
Holding the bottle in her right hand, she walked up to the bed and reached for ; but as she reached for with her copy and pasted depressed look-
Splash!
The bottle in her hand slipped out her fingers, and the cap, which for so reason wasn't screwed on properly, ca flying off as milk spewed everywhere onto the ground. My food was spilled.
I stared into my mother's eyes.
And she stared down at the spilled food.
A long silence filled the room.
Then, she lifted her face.
And I swear.
I swear on my life.
I swear on my sister's life.
I swear on everything that encompasses ; she was smiling.
A simple, quiet smile.
But a smile nonetheless.
But as quickly as the smile appeared, it dissipated like an illusion. Her face bore the heaviest of regrets as tears bubbled out the corners of her eyes and she:
"I'm so sorry sweetie! That was all the food I had!"
She rushed towards , picked up into her arms, and rubbed her face on mine. Her words were drenched with truthful sorrow and regret; genuine emotions. I can feel her emotions are real, but I can still feel that imnse peace in my chest as I lay in her arms.
But.
I saw it.
I saw the smile.
She doesn't know I'm a fully grown adult on the inside.
She knows I'm intelligent, but she doesn't know I'm fully grown.
All my suspicions collided at once as I arrived at a terrifying conclusion.
Everything.
From my first ti waking up, to the starvation, the scratches on my neck;
Was planned.
Yet.
Even with that being the case.
The peace I feel in her arms.
It is undoubtedly real.
I resisted the urge to bite my lips.
As real as my love for my sister.
The image of that personification of madness ca flooding back.
What is that thing doing to us? What are they planning for us?
The feelings I first had when I awoke ca back to ; the illusion of hope and peace, that spark for a better future;
It's because of this peace being forced upon .
Resisting the urge to let out a helpless chuckle, I reached a dreary conclusion—one I could only reach because of my unique existence as a reincarnated person.
Everything is going as they planned.
That begs the question.
If I weren't a reincarnated person.
If I weren't an adult male.
If I weren't intelligent.
Would I have fallen for it till the end?
Wrapping my arms around mother's neck, I tightened my grip to the limit; I tightened it enough to choke out another baby.
Yes, I would have.
Again;
Horror gripped my neck.
Suffocation tightened the noose, and the ominous thing hovering high above my neck seed to draw closer.
"I'm sorry honey... I won't ss up again tomorrow."
Tomorrow, she says.
Tomorrow, she states as she walks out to the garden.
Tomorrow, she declares as she hears my stomach crying out in despair.
Tomorrow.
This.
This!
Stickiness drowned my chest; a tar-like stickiness.
A pitch-black stickiness.
Drip.
I'm not crying.
Drip.
I'm.
Drip.
"Oh dear sweetie, what's making you cry?"
I'm.
I ignore the fingers wiping the liquid draining from my eyes.
I'm not.
-----
Squelch!
A vile noise sputtered from my empty engine, the churning stomach liquids beat the lining of my stomach repeatedly as my brain begged, and begged; and-
Food.
It begged.
Food.
Begged,begg-
Foodofoodofooodofoo.
Grumble!
Mother's hand lightly patted my agonising stomach, her voice echoing in my eardrums: "Oh dear , I'm sorry sweetie, you can eat tomorrow..." The peace of her embrace; the maddening hunger; the contradicting voice;
I once thought...
I want to eat.
I once thought not much could be worse than death.
Give food, please.
But starvation.
I want to eat.
This ravenous, abhorrent feeling in my stomach.
Nothing is worse than this, nothing I've ever gone through is worse; food, give food, I want food, food food fooodoofoofofofofofoofo!
Food.
Milk.
My head thrust itself into mother's chest, reaching for the nipples hidden beneath her clothes; I know you produce milk, give milk, I want milk.
"Sweetie, where are you putting your head? There's nothing there~"
Lying.
You're lying.
There's milk in your breasts.
But all I got in response was a warm, fleeting smile; the sa smile from before.
"Dear , you must be so hungry... I'm so sorry for being clumsy..."
That's right, I shouldn't know there's milk in breasts. I've never experienced breastfeeding in this life but I don't care; I continued shoving my face into the soft cushioning of the fat-filled breasts.
Give .
"Do you feel like sleeping?"
No.
Give .
"Let's put you to bed early then."
Stop, don't put down in this bed.
"Good night~"
Don't leave.
Don't shut that door.
Don't!
Thud.
The noise of the door crashing shut before my eyes froze my soul.
...Food.
...All I wanted was food.
"Gya... Gya..."
Soulless cries leaked from my throat.
The sun, aurora, in the distance, was approaching its setting point; it wasn't long before night arrived. And I haven't been fed since yesterday; for 24 hours. An amount of ti, for a baby, that could undoubtedly be placed on the sa level as a grown adult having gone weeks without food.
I'm dying...
I'm certain of it...
Grumble!
My stomach gleefully reminded .
I need food...
Staring at the ceiling through foggy, upturned eyes, I slowly lifted my tired arms. I raised them above , allowing a tantalising look at the mutton-like flesh and snow-white skin.
I stared at the crispy exterior.
The llow fragrance.
The glistening oils.
Food...?
Lowering the tantalizing tenders, I allowed the oily, fragrant chicken to grace my lips.
Is this food...?
Pushing them past my lips, I tried to bite down.
Tried.
But my few teeth were too weak to bite through the crispy chicken flesh, the delicious fried chicken; a food I hadn't had the chance to consu in ages.
Sothing delicious.
I ground down on the crispy flesh with all my might, embracing the textures of the chicken with my tongue.
More.
As I tasted the oils squelch past the tender flesh, I blissfully curled my eyes.
So good.
I gulped the oils down, I was satisfied with the oils alone. Getting past the crispy exterior and into the oils was a good enough accomplishnt; in fact, consuming fried chicken of old is a miracle...
Silently closing my eyes, I collapsed into a dense, ravenous sleep;
I slept with endless churnings in my stomach.
And all around Alora.
Decorating her.
Were crimson splatters.
-----
...What?
"Oh, dear sweetie... What have you done?" Dividing my torn fingers, mother tenderly rubbed the open wounds, antagonizing the pain further.
Did I?
"You shouldn't drink your own blood, sweetie. It's not good for your health. " Mother looked concerned and playfully tapped her face, her stern gaze churning with hidden playful intent.
I drank it?
Mother pulled out a handkerchief and started wiping the crusted blood lining my lips.
That fried chicken?
"Don't do it again, okay?"
Was my fingers?
After cleaning up, my mother stepped back to the bedside table and picked up today's bottle. There, she stood dangling the warm, glass milk bottle. She shook it with loose fingers, teasing .
"Let's drink well today, okay?"
Then.
The look on her face shifted into one of panic.
The bottle between her fingers slipped, and, in a heart-rending slow motion, I sat and watched as the glass bottle shattered across the tiled and carpeted floor; the stains erupted alongside mother's cry.
I stared down at the stained, wet floor.
Then, I looked back up at mother's face.
She stared down at with remorse; with curiosity.
"Oh no~ You won't have food again today if you don't drink up..." With a downcast expression, she lightly tapped her face with a head tilt. Her oceanic-blue eyes oozed with palpable sorrow.
And I.
I crawled.
I moved my body over to the edge of the bed, ignoring the pain in my fingers.
I lowered myself to the floor and stood below mother's shadow.
Then.
I got on my knees.
...
...
...
...And licked.
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