Hunger
Mother says it began when I was very young. I cried so much that she thought she’d go insane. At first, room-temperature milk seemed to calm me. Sometimes, still, it will do, as its taste is so close to that of blood.
When milk no longer worked she moved on to animals. She couldn’t kill them herself, being the sensitive woman she is. She discovered that I preferred them alive. Sure, dead they offered the nourishment of congealing blood, and life is still in the blood. But alive! Oh, the life force they contained! I remember as far back as a toddler, holding the kittens, puppies, frogs, birds, whatever Mother found. I remember feeling their terror, feeling their struggle as the life force left them and fed me. I remember the satisfied feeling once their bodies went limp in my arms and they became a part of me forever. Their screams and whimpers serve as my lullaby at night.
I remember the satisfied feeling of allowing Mother to join me in that same way. Now she’s always with me. She even speaks to me sometimes. Usually she’s not very nice. She doesn’t understand that, now that I’m an adult, smaller prey doesn’t satisfy the hunger. Sometimes she pleads with me not to hunt. She cries for those that will suffer eternal torment at my hands. She doesn’t understand that I am the way, the path to eternal life is within me.
Tonight she simply wails. She knows I will feed.