Dinner

I was twenty-seven when I decided it would be beneficial to learn how to cook something that tastes good instead of just something that would keep me alive. Unfortunately, that isn’t the point we are at in the story yet so I ate the skin off a skinny rat that I had burned over a greasy fire. I was still twenty-four. The hils gave me a body that was disfigured, and confused. The metal against my bones and muscles itched. The rubber replacement lung stapled to the plate in my chest worked well, but it weighed a ton, and took a lot of energy to use some days. And unfortunately, they couldn’t find a suitable alternative for my left arm. When I looked at my reflection what I saw was a stranger. A monster. But this monster was strong, agile, and hungry. I had never felt more driven to act as I did that day. I finished my meal and skunked around to the back door of the building. I waited behind it and when it inevitably swung open so another armadillo could throw away another failed brainwash project I jammed a bit of metal in the latch of the door so it would remain open. I’d used this method to keep doors open when I was exploring the neighborhood because once I had locked myself in a strange closet full of fur and leather. My sister let me out but not before her and Still enjoyed some alone time, and Still tormented me by trying to describe it to me. Twins like to be close, and share a unique intimacy but that was just too intimate.
Back to the task at hand. The door would stay ajar so I paused outside it after it closed and listened to the footsteps of the armadillo returning to her post. I pulled the door open slowly and snuck inside. I found myself in a hallway with a door to my right, a door to my left, and nowhere else to hide. I scurried toward the door to my right and hugged the wall as I peered inside. A strong scent of alcohol and something else unpleasant gagged my senses. Uproarious laughter filed the space. “A world without want is a what? Did you use too much syrup on them?” they teased. I made a silent, sour face and crossed the hall in one quick step. That door was locked. I sprinted as quietly as I could down te long hall and turned left at the fork. I ducked immediately into a room and slid myself against a wall. In that room, staring at me, were at least 5 other worms. A family, I discovered. I held the door open for the and silently pantomimed directions to the exit. The group consisted of 2 men, 1 teen aged girl and a boyish toddler. I told the leading parent about the room full of laughing elites and the helpful hils as quietly as I could manage and rushed them out the door. With the room empty I jammed another bit of metal into the door so it wouldn’t lock behind me. I let it fall shut and took a moment to scan the room.
There were 5 small beds, a trough with rotting g meat inside, a slime covered bucket of water, and a hole in a corner of the floor that seemed to be the preferred place to release one’s self. Nothing of use to me. I went to the beds and pulled up the mattresses. In my books as a kid the hero would hide things there frequently. Michael hid foul smelling herbs there.
I found a small knife, a journal, and a photo. The photo was of a little girl wielding that very knife. She is smiling and crouched. Her nails are sharp like animal claws and she is wearing the blood of her most recent victim. I placed the photo back under the mattress and wiped my hand clean of invisible filth. I put the knife in my pocket and returned to the door. I listened for a long time before deciding to move.
I ran quickly down the hallway and up a flight of stairs. I slipped into another door as the metronome sound of lazy steps approached. I looked around the room and saw more of the same bed I was strapped to. With a plastic green mattress and paper sheets. The door opened. In walked a slender bearded man. It seemed more alert than an armadillo, and more cunning than an elite. In fact, he seemed just as scared as I was. His graying, thinning hair was pulled back into a loose braid. He hadn’t seen me yet. I hid under a table and the man stood taller as a glass jar wobbled above me. He turned his head slowly, scanning the room. He noticed the movement of the object and slowly tiptoed over to it.
His eyes met mine. “Dirt?” he whispered.