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I.
Ah… Oh… Ow—there was a static ringing in my head, like a stick skewering through my eardrums. Then thumping and stomping followed…
It was dark, dusty, and humid—I felt uncomfortable, sweaty, hot, and cold all at the same time as my head was hurting.
Faintly, I could feel wetness under my nose and above my lips, sticky with gooey snot. My tongue was curious, so I poked the wetness with the tip of my tongue. Salty.
And underneath my lips were my numb yet chattering teeth, they felt so hollow and frail inside like they were freezing from the inside and slowly cracking into little pieces while my gums were pale and barely feeling a thing.
I curled my legs close to my chest, giving just enough space for my twin sister to fit comfortably in the closet.
Then, my eyes widened at the slightest sound of crying—ah, right… who wouldn’t cry? Right in front of me, my sister was in this rotting, maggot-infested cabinet, it reeked of pee and I just knew there must be dead roaches at the corners of the soggy boxes we’d squeezed flat just so we could fit inside.
My hands began trembling. Whether it was out of fear or something else was something only a God would know, I could never tell. All I knew was that I reached out to her, clumsily cupping my palm over her lips, and shaking my head slowly.
Maybe I knew fear, it would be a lie if I hadn’t known fear. That way, I knew when to confidently say (or lie) that I wasn’t afraid. With one hand over my twin sister’s lips, and the other over my chest, I could feel it. The exciting and weird pacing of my heart. My chest was beating—it was so weird. Something was so weird, it throbbed just like the sides of my head, just like the bridge of my nose. The more the seconds passed, the more the tingles all over my body spread, from the tip of my head, down to my toes. It numbed me through and through, leaving me to be a rattling body.
But, even with my attempts, I could never stop one’s cries—and so my twin sister’s sobs only grew louder. By instinct, I pressed my hand harder and firmer, her nose flattening against the side of my hand in an attempt to stifle her growing sobs.
Reaching out to her proved to be a mistake, but I knew if I didn’t it would, too, be a mistake. Was it a losing game? Was there never a good choice to begin with? Then, the questions dissipated, replaced only with the trepidation that it was my fault—that I am responsible for what is to come.
The wooden flooring of the cabinet creaked as I moved closer and my breath hitched. I stopped halfway, and I saw my twin sister holding her breath—as if she had forgotten how to breathe just like I did. As if magic, our little noises echoed thundering footsteps outside: slow, dragging, and heavy—they were a man’s footsteps whose feet wore those thick spiked boots meant for hiking and long travels. I know those, definitely, because I’ve traveled a long way watching those shoes sink into the ground, push through the gravel, and beat against the wooden flooring.
And many times now, I would wonder—when will I sink underneath just like that and leave nothing but a hole after passing? When? I keep wondering, when will my thoughts be entertained—granted? To sink into the earth and be left behind.
I want to yearn for it.
The footsteps all of a sudden stopped—I heard nothing but dead silence. I should be relieved, but something terrifying crept up in my heart, it was rattling the insides of my body and I felt all squeezed and twisted under my skin.
I looked into my sister’s widened eyes—and saw the fear that burned and clouded the golden color. Guilt? Mirrored fear? I questioned what I felt, questioned the reason why my heart stilled. The next thing I heard was the creak of the wooden doors opening and the strip of flickering light came to blanket my vision in white and black.
Screams and pleas came echoing one after the other, I felt my body dragged from that stuffy and suffocating closet—I should be relieved but in just a matter of seconds, being freed from that closet had been thrown across the room. The back of my head hit the concrete wall, a thud echoed when my body rolled over to the floor. The ringing and static were louder this time, it was drowning out any sounds from the outside, screams, pleas, mumbles, mutters, whispers, footsteps, and all of that drowned out.
I blinked my eyes, watching my sister’s similarly long hair pulled out of the closet, dragging her little body across the floor. The big, heavy man threw my sister to the old mattress, towering over her, and stripped her of her pajamas. The buttons popped and fell to the floor, the cloth tore apart leaving just shreds.
She was kicking, screaming, and begging until that man’s hand covered her mouth. Unlike my hands which were small, barely pressing against her nose and mouth, this man’s hand could cover her entire face and even grasp her hair. He was shoving her head down the mattress as his other hand balled into a fist, burying it in sharp lunges down on her bruised and reddened stomach.
I watched. And watched. Shook my head until my vision cleared. It was warm and dusty—not even a gust of wind inside this room despite the broken open windows. There was the slight sunlight slipping between the torn curtains. The sky was blue, so clear and so bright, not a single trail of a cloud.
My gaze followed the floating specks of dust revealed by the strips of light, dazedly eyeing it as the cries came to one ear and out the other.
My feet grew cold and my ears were hot, my head felt full yet hollow, and an uncomfortable feeling settled in my gut, twisting my feelings enough it burned my heart. At that moment I was so lost in thought, the sky was so blue, and I could finally breathe—it was much better than that closet. My feet felt sleepy, I wanted to lie down. I no longer needed to think about the hiding roaches, or possibly lying against a soggy hole with maggots. The sky was so blue and bright—I felt so much better. It was so quiet aside from the ringing.
Then a sharp pain came over me.
I felt like gagging, and vomiting. I felt sick.
When I took slow steps, I took a quick look at the yellow and brown-stained bare mattress that was now dyed with droplets of red.
I followed the trail of the color red until it finally reached my sister’s cheeks. Her blood dripped from her nose and from her mouth as she kept coughing strings of red.
When I look at her crying, and I look at him screaming, I know I’m supposed to do something.
Maybe mimic my sister, to cry and wail, or mimic that man, to scream and kick.
But I stood there, unable to decide what to do.
I blinked once, another fist to her face, her mouth gaping open with both her front teeth swinging.
I blinked twice, her legs pried apart, showing the little slit between her legs, and the big man’s hanging skin hardened into a thick flesh—the pink, swollen tip was pressing against my sister’s slit.
I blinked thrice, and the man thrust without even a moment of hesitation, burying the entire length down until not even an inch of its skin was seen outside.
A part of me understood, but another part of me didn’t.
But understanding the circumstances was the least of my concerns. The itch in my throat worsened, dried my tongue, and it made my nose flare. My eyes felt dry, my cheeks were hot, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Confusion? Maybe fear? But those emotions I’ve read with specific descriptions didn’t seem to match what I felt. When I looked back, I could see the blue skies through the thin, white curtains. I felt something in between fear and confusion, something a little hotter but not quite anger.
When I looked back at the bed, my sister’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her mouth was hung open while the blood continued dripping from her mouth.
Then rushed footsteps came, running, running and I turned to look at the side. A frail-looking woman came, her hair was just as gold as mine, long and smooth, too shiny for its own good. She looked so small, so thin, so frail… yet in her hands were the wooden legs of a chair.
She hurried to the bed, swinging the wooden chair to the big man’s head, the wood shattered, each leg breaking and cracking and the man fumbled and rolled down the bed to the floor with an audible, roaring thud that the creaking floor could have broken apart. The next thing I saw was how the thin woman quickly held my sister in her arms, her skeleton hands were gently rubbing the back of my sister’s face, wiping the blood off her nose and kissing her forehead, kissing her cheeks, and cradling her.
There was something I finally realized.
I’m one year old now, and this has been happening for as long as I can remember, but I only found this interesting thing—how similar their hair was. That woman and my sister’s hair… they were exactly the same in length, same in the way they were styled. Shiny, greasy in the slightest, straight with a slight wave, and curl at the end.
Then I looked behind where a shattered mirror stood. There were a few fragments still in place, just enough so I could see my reflection. But I could see at the corner… my sister and that woman too. I noticed it—our hair, they were gold, long, and it was shiny and smooth.
Me. My sister. That woman…
Instead of a ringing inside my head, it was whispering, their words raked against my ears.
That moment… while the skies were blue…
II.
Simple creatures.
That was what we were, children. Simple minds, simple behaviors. Happiness during pleasure, sadness during pain. We learn from repetition. Routine? I think that was what it was called. We learn through patterns and conditions—through punishment, and through reward. And things that reward us are what we must repeat, and things that punish us are things we shouldn’t ever repeat.
That morning, that woman shoved my twin sister to me. At the sudden weight, I stumbled and fell to the ground. My sister was bleeding and her saliva kept drooling on my shoulder. Instead of helping me up, that woman threw rolls of bandages and gave me a few bottles I couldn’t even fit in my arms. I had to watch as a roll or two fell too far from my reach. That woman didn’t pick it up, didn’t look back, and quickly ran to the passed-out big man. Despite her trembling arms that her little green lines were poking out of her skin, she was hoisting the big, burly man up, tying him in ropes that seemed too loose, using the grey tape all over his face.
I cringed at the sight.
I hated those tapes. They burned my skin.
I looked at my sister who pulled away in the slightest but still clinging onto me. She was shaken and scared. Her left eye was shut close and in deep purple, and her lips were bleeding.
Something. Something. Something.
There was always something I couldn’t figure out.
I finally reached my hand out to her and she flinched, but, quickly, her face melted into something sweet. That smile she had even when she was missing both her front teeth.
Ugly. But cute.
She tugged the sleeve of my shirt and I followed her outside the room. I glanced back and watched as that woman tied that man up. But, at the corner of my eyes, I saw a flinch of that man’s hand.
While that woman was busying herself, there was a shadow crouching and squatting down close to that man… closely looking at that hand and I wondered…
III.
With rolls of bandages on my hands, I noticed my arms. Covered in the same red, green, and purple as my sister, and that woman.
I blinked twice, figuring out something, looking at the shades of the same color, looking at the size of each patch.
I tried to think, but no thought would stay afloat. I began to wrap bandages on my sister’s arm, applying cream and ointments to the wounds. She was giggling, chuckling, and mumbling something. I didn’t understand—still, the ringing was louder and everything outside only went in one ear and out the other.
Then I saw a sparkle. I looked to the side. There was a pair of scissors.
I remembered my realization.
The same long, golden hair.
That’s right.
I paused and left the bandages rolling as my attention was stolen away.
I walked towards the scissors scattered on the floor, picked them up, and let the snipping sounds echo three times. I looked back at my sister, she eyed me with a tilt of her head and those wide curious eyes.
I held the scissors up.
My sister seemed confused. No. Afraid? The way she shivered made me think she was afraid. It was the same face she wore every time that man held her. And it exactly matched what fear is from the stories my twin sister and I would read, from the little mumbles that woman would repeat when she would hold us tight while in the dark.
I wanted to smile to comfort her—I wanted to copy what that woman would do when my twin sister was shaking like the state she was in now.
But my cheeks were heavy and I grabbed a handful of her hair.
She began to sniffle, her sobs growing louder by the second.
Quiet. I wanted to tell her. Ssh. I wanted to hush her. But my lips wouldn’t move and I pressed the scissors against her hair, cutting more than half of it. Her hair pooled on my feet and it tickled me a bit. It continued for a few seconds until her hair was already revealing the top of her shoulders, while her hair lay scattered, she was crying.
I couldn’t even say anything more when we suddenly heard the loud, thunderous footsteps and the blood-curdling scream of that woman.
The crack of wood, and the shatter of ceramics. One came after the other and I felt my sister cling to me right when she refused to let me touch her. Out of the door was that man carrying a wooden paddle. He was stomping our way and, for once, I felt a sense of ease. I stood there, quiet and still, and that man stood still as well.
He was staring at us with his flaring nostrils and a reddened face. He was heaving heavy… very heavy breaths and, finally, his big, hairy hand reached out.
Not to my sister, but to me.
I was pulled by the hair and dragged across the floor, but I didn’t cry. It stung, my head… the skin on top of my head felt like it was being torn apart. I looked back at my sister whose expression was something I couldn’t tell—not because I didn’t know, but because it was a new face she had never shown before. I never learned of it yet.
I wonder what it was she felt. Because the way her tears flowed didn’t seem the same as before—as if she was happy.
That’s right.
I’ve realized it.
IV.
Back in the same room.
The skies were still blue.
In that room, that man grabbed my hair and threw my body onto the dirty and soggy sheets. It was so wet and sticky on my skin. From the corner of my eye, I saw that woman all curled up in the corner of the room with a bleeding mouth. Her arm was weird—folded the other way around with her elbow sticking out weirdly. The dress she wore was torn, I saw her pale and purple legs, it was dripping with so much red—so much blood. But there was something weird. Something right in between—moving, vibrating… I think that thing was making that woman cry in broken whines. She wouldn’t stop trembling and twitching every second.
But I couldn’t spend another second looking at her, after all, such a big hand was reaching out to me, holding my entire face down that his sweaty palm was pressing my nose flat.
Ah.
Adults are terrifying creatures, that’s what I learned.
The moment I was held, I felt chills down my spine and felt such cold hands cradle me. I have a feeling I'm not supposed to recognize fear, that I’m supposed to recognize it as love, but the moment those hands, much bigger than I am, held me through cotton blankets, all I could feel was the loss of breath and the twist of my skin.
I wonder… if that man realizes what we are feeling. Not in the heart… no, but in the body. Our skin is sensitive—our bodies are soft and fragile. Our blood is so warm and so alive that a single moment of death might just feel like an eternity.
That man’s touch sent tingles all over, like needles traces all over my skin, raking deeper and deeper to draw lines of red even when that man wasn’t present.
I think I’ve figured a piece or two—why that woman is there, why that man is here, why she was shaking, why this man was pressing against my body.
I’ve read it before—I’ve been told about that by that woman: love.
I don’t know love. I don’t know that.
The feeling I have now all over my body is a weird feeling, something like hurting, something like comfort.
I should have cried.
V.
My clothes were torn off—the pull and rii—ip were so loud in my ears it popped the ringing sound. The sound might be a little weird, but my skin didn’t feel unfamiliar, it was nothing much different when I only wore rags to keep me a bit clothed from the cold.
Those big and heavy hands cupped my face, holding me like I’d hold a ball of water—tight, making sure no droplet would slip from my fingers, but it did. And it’s wet, and it smells sharp, like old metal. Those big and rough hands trace down, rubbing from my forehead down to my chest, pressing right down beating my chest, my protruding ribs, then down to my concave stomach.
Then there it was. A look of surprise. That man seemed speechless. That something was different.
I wondered if he noticed. I really wondered.
But my doubts were washed away when he spread my legs open. I blinked twice, eyeing through his fingers—the way his bigger thing was pressed against my stomach. It reeked. Like pee and weird stuff,
Ah… It reeked. But I kept quiet.
And I stopped breathing for a second.
Things like disgust… are weird to me.
That man seemed confused, me too… I think I know, but at the same time, I don’t know.
He kept pressing the tip of his thing against my butt. I tilted my head.
His hand kept rubbing on my body, it was like he was finding something, but then he settled somewhere—around my neck, then tightened his grip I could’ve sworn my head started fuming, it was so hot and the top of my head was tingling. That man’s body was leaning closer… he was becoming heavier and I couldn’t stop breathing.
I gasped for air. All the smells rushed into my nose.
Something hot… like acid, was bubbling in my tummy and up to my throat. I was having breathless gasps and foamy burps.
I thought that was the pain I would feel, that it would be the only thing I would feel.
But the stretch of my skin untold me otherwise. He pushed his body closer to mine and it felt like a knife was shoved up my body, slicing through my organs and turning it into mush.
Gasping for air, or closing my nose, it was like I both couldn’t breathe and desperately breathed. I could taste it, the salty snot from my nose, then little drops of blood in my throat.
But I don’t think I could see what I looked like, nor could I understand what I felt like.
What I did see was the horror on that man’s face.
I don’t think this is right—but I don’t know what’s right.
Is this good? It feels weird. It’s so vivid in my head. The colors. The faces. The sweltering heat. The wetness. The filling sensation inside my tummy. But my butt feels weird, it feels stretched out and full.
What we do know is that if it hurts, we don’t like it, what doesn't hurt, we’re okay with it—it was so simple, but even I can’t answer that.
Do adults know… or realize we can recognize that much? That, if it hurts, it’s painful, and we don’t like pain. And no one taught us to appreciate pain.
They kept drilling it down on our soft bodies, what were we supposed to do about it?
Is this punishment? Is this reward? I never did anything to receive it either. I don’t know what this is, I don’t know what to feel about it, I don’t know what to think of this.
But my body is saying plenty of things.
It’s a blur, and along with the ringing sound in my ears, there are weird wet and sloppy sounds, then that man’s breaths and grunts. I felt wet droplets on my face. It was salty. Like sweat but not quite sweat. It was closer to the tears my twin sister would cry. But… but, that was my sister’s. When I looked up at that man, I couldn’t see anything.
Just skin… and lots of red.
It was dark, and my lungs felt like it’s been twisted dry.
VI.
I woke up with a shadow over my body, there was an uncomfortable sink on the bed, and hands with thick, coarse hair by the finger joints would scratch against my skin, the thick flesh and calloused skin would wrap around my neck, would press against my ribs until I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
My head is all weird and fuzzy, the ringing sound is so loud but there’s something louder, the creaking bed and the gruff shouting. These big hands were bunching holed through the wooden bed and soaked mattress. It felt like my brain and organs were bouncing with each umph of my body that man was doing.
My butt was numb, my tummy felt rotten.
At some point I thought that it was normal, that’s what I think: normal.
It wasn’t love. I don’t know that, we don’t know that.
But, normalcy. We know that.
It's day-to-day life.
And if it means that our daily lives included getting hurt, I wanted to return it because everyone has to be treated normally to fit in and to live.
I was one at that time, and my memories only would become vivid and vivid, and, along with it, the moments became crueler and crueler.
I don’t think adults realize I remember it all.
Or, maybe, it’s because my sister still smiles despite the blood running from her nose, despite the chipped spoon I have in my hand.
Now, I’ve turned two, I want to do something now that I can walk in a straight line.
Now that I can hold things in my hand properly without staggering and fumbling.
VII.
It’s been a year since that day.
When that man pulled away from my body, I saw the scissors I held already stuck in that man’s eye. Big, heavy, smelly, red was pouring onto my face, but that wasn’t what snapped me to my senses, it wasn’t what stopped the ringing in my ears. With my mouth open in surprise, his blood fell on my tongue.
I felt a rush that fried my brain. The dark and dreary world I saw suddenly had color. I was seeing weird things, like flashing lights, something pink and yellow, then neon blue, and lots of red.
When I closed my mouth, I only found myself opening it again, feeling more, and more, of that man’s blood, pouring and gushing into my mouth.
Stronger, even, when he pulled the scissors away.
It seemed that moment triggered something.
That man fell off the bed.
Screaming a scream like no other.
And that woman came to me, crawling to that man and clumsily taking the scissors with both her hands. She looked at me, eyed the space between my legs, the blood dripping to my toes, and the bruises across my torso. She drew a shaky smile, maybe something more pleasant than before. Because, really, unlike before, she would smile so forcibly.
That time, she looked really happy.
She said something. But I couldn’t understand. Before I could even ask her to repeat her words, she slammed the scissors down to that man’s throat.
It was a fountain of red.
I remembered in books rainbows were a bunch of colors, but this time it was red.
Oh… Ah… Uhm… I like it. I liked it a lot.
I looked at the way that woman was crouching over that man’s body, cupping his face and kissing him. I didn’t understand, but I saw it—at the corner of the room, the same shadow that saw that man’s flinching hand.
This time though… the shadow finally smiled, Its bright white teeth stretched into an end-to-end smile.
Oh… my reward. Mhm… I like it. My… My first reward.
I’ve dreamt that night for days, and days, and even in my waking thoughts, I kept reliving that memory.
Now, I’m in a new home.
VIII.
Still shabby, but with one hand I was holding my sister, her hair still short, loving the haircut I’d given her that she maintained despite everything, and on my other hand was my mother, her lovely golden hair was shining amidst the sunlight.
And mine? It was in a pretty single braid.
“Aether, would you like some crepes? Papa is going to buy some for Lumine! What flavor do you want?” My mama looked at me with such a pleasant smile, her face had never been so bright and I wondered when it began that her face began to look so ugly.
And that reminded me.
I haven’t seen that shadow for a long time now. That shadow… my friend… that blob of black who looked at that man’s flinching hand, the very friend who showed me what were things to be rewarded.
It opened my mind to a new thought.
I looked away from my mama and looked left and right, but there would only be random people walking by. There was a stuffy feeling in my heart, and my chest, and a weird swell that made my stomach feel bloated. He hadn’t visited for a long while.
Ever since mama kissed this new man we call “papa”.
My friend hasn’t visited…
“Aether, sweetie?”
I didn’t look. Not yet.
“Honey, is there anything wrong?”
“Oh, darling… Aether just seems… a little distracted, did you get what Lumine wanted?”
He nodded, “They’re already preparing her crepe, how about Aether?”
Still, I kept looking until there was a group of workers carrying a long mirror across the park to the mini truck. For a moment I saw myself, and in that glimpse, I finally saw my friend.
I looked up at mama and papa and nodded, “Cherry.”
Red. Our favorite color.
IX.
My sister was playing with the other girls at the park, running around and touching each other.
I was a little confused, maybe even a bit surprised. Because my twin sister hated being touched, but, somehow, she found herself warming up to the other kids.
I don’t think I’ve changed, not that I understood what I am in the first place, so, if I changed, I wouldn’t even notice or see what’s been different. I sat by the swing, alone, I didn’t want to play tag.
The ground was still wet, with some puddles here and there. An hour ago it rained, but not too bad. My sister and her friends enjoyed playing in the rain. After being dried up, they went out to play again. Mama told me to join them this time since I didn’t play earlier, I did, but I turned and left before I could reach them.
Because.
Because.
Beside me was my friend.
Like me, he’s grown up—he was just a shadow, but now he looks like the kids my sister plays with. Skin and all. His empty, hollow eyes looked right through me. Although… the dots and lines across his body made me feel worried.
“Hello.” I finally spoke.
But the cawing of a bird took my attention and I glanced away. When I looked back at the neighboring swing, my friend was gone.
I should pay more attention to my friends.
That's what I learned. Or else they’d leave.
I have to be obedient.
I have to be focused.
I have to learn quickly.
X.
I’m now four.
And so many things have changed, many things have become normal in the past year.
Across me, my mama was tied up, needles all over her skin, and there was my sister hanging upside down, her head was so red and I couldn’t help but try to tilt my head down and look at her in the same direction, but a much larger hand pulled my head away and I looked up.
It was my “papa”.
His hands roamed on my naked body, squishing and pulling my skin.
This wasn’t anything new, it started happening a few months after we lived with “papa”.
Maybe it all started from papa, after all, he was the one keeping all this—but I was responsible too, I realized. It was my fault when I was three.
I tripped and fell down the basement and there were limbs all over the place.
Rather than cry or scream. I ran to the barrel overflowing with rubbery red.
Suddenly, I was so hungry. My mouth was wet, I was drooling and I’d never wanted anything more in my life than that moment. I remembered the rainbow of red, I remembered the way that man’s blood poured into my mouth. I remembered everything.
I grabbed anything my hands could reach, and began chewing on it, and my teeth hurt and numb. It was so sticky, hard and I couldn’t bite through it.
I didn’t notice the footsteps behind me.
It was too bright.
Until my friend showed up, his hands were trembling.
XI.
It was Sunday evening, I was out for a walk.
A collar around my neck and my bare knees scraping against the concrete ground. My palms were half skin and half flesh at this point from all of the walks with papa.
I sat my bottom on the ground, looking up at my papa who held the leash.
He showed an expression of anger, something near disgust too. But it was rather weird. He tugged the leash and I continued walking. The cold winds made my naked body tingle. I was walking on all fours as I looked left and right.
The neighborhood was quiet.
Except for the wails of a dog.
My papa stopped.
And nearby we saw a dog humping another dog—it reminded me of something… mhm. I still remember.
I sat down, eyeing the peculiar display. The speed of thrusts and their weird shrill whining. I know dogs. Neighbors had a dog, just one, a cute fluffy white puppy, But they sound so different at that moment.
My papa tugged me again, going closer to the pair of dogs and I watched closely.
They didn’t stop. Or, did they? They slowed down it seemed.
And my papa momentarily let go of my leash, took out a gun, and fired right through the whining dog’s head, leaving the one thrusting to pull away—but the dog didn’t run away. It was shivering and cowering in fear.
I wondered why it didn’t run away.
I peeked over the dog’s shoulder, I saw my friend behind the bushes. He used to just be a shadow, then he grew a mouth, then a year later he finally had skin and hollow eyes. Now, the holes through his skin grew, and there was more red.
I tilted my head.
The next thing I knew, my papa pulled my hair, pulling me off the ground like I was a doll. My head was stretching, the skin… the skin—it felt like it was going to rip apart. Then threw me to the dog.
My papa poured some kind of liquid on my body. I felt sticky… so gooey. And when I wiped it, it just spread more on my chest down to my legs. I blinked twice, trying to go back on all fours until I felt a weight on my back. Suddenly, some warmth and weird wet length were pushed between down there.
It was a sensation I remember.
My hands held the ground, grabbing the grass between my fingers, and the dog that was in so much fear earlier was suddenly lost in some craze. Thrusting into me while I looked at the dead animal in front of me. It was twitching, still, and with one hand I struggled to grab its skin, pulling it closer to me as I patted its fur.
It was still warm.
And I was salivating.
My papa squatted down, took a knife, and cut through the dog’s skin, revealing the vivid red insides. And my eyes brightened, I didn’t even think twice and my hand dipped into the body, pulling the flesh and shoving everything in my mouth even if it was too hard and rubbery for me to chew. I filled my cheeks and broke my throat as I swallowed it all.
Walks and dinners were the best.
XII.
You understand, right? You’re my friend. You knew that man was going to wake up. So you helped me notice it. You knew.
And then when I was confused when my life changed all of a sudden. You showed up. You told me what I liked. Red. Cherries… apples… anything red.
Then you came again, the puppy was so yummy.
Mhm… you think like me… adults are so silly—they’re weird. I don’t think adults realize how simple they are.
Through my eyes, all I could see was a mirror.
You and I are just the same. Feeling the same things, confused by the same things.
Things like… superiority, open-mindedness… belongingness… so easily they seem to have many, many meanings, all fitting depending from person to person. I’ve learned that quite easily. I’ve learned a lot of things, like… likes and dislikes.
Things that are good for me.
Because adults can be careless.
XIII.
Something was different.
I was going to be five in six months. And it was a cool afternoon.
With my mama, papa, and my twin sister, we were taking a walk around the shopping street until we came across a group of children all wearing the same blue clothes and nice yellow hats.
For once, my attention was caught and I stopped walking, looking behind as I watched the group of kids leave.
“Come on, Aether, let’s go.” My mama tugged my hand.
I wanted to be with those kids even if they looked no different from the kids in the park playing with my sister. I don’t know why… I don’t know why I wanted something. Maybe I was curious.
While holding my mama and my sister, there was a very tall man running past us. The sharp wind against my cheek tickled me.
“Teucer, wait up! Big Bro’s gonna take pictures!” For once, I could hear someone's voice—no ringing, no static.
For a moment I glanced up. His voice was a rope wrapped around my neck, a single syllable necessary to have me pull my neck. I saw his bright blue eyes and I looked back down.
Behind the concrete pole with overgrown weeds, there was my friend, meekly peeking his head with bared teeth where there was the pouring red.