#bellafide

A sigh.

“My dear, dear Bellafide….”

His tongue rolls wetly between his teeth. He sounds… Hungry and something else, something oily and slick.

“I have known your child. Inside-out.”

You feel like shattering this millstone, getting to his filthy tongue and his old throat, how dare he, how...

“I’m a father to all of my lost children. Those who need to be nurtured… Tenderized…”

Your stomach growls. You feel like clawing your guts out. You know he smiles behind the barricade.

“You understand, don’t you? All the patter of little feet.”

They always start with paws. You remember the crisp flesh, the golden breadcrumbs right around the claws. A delicacy. A trick. It’s amazing how long beasts can survive... Limbless.

“His squeaks, his songs, his tiny ears…”

Ear and tongue stew. Soft prunes that fall apart under the fork.

“A sturdy boy, wasn’t he? Yes… Sturdy and scrumptious.”

“Shut it, just shut it, shut it, won’t you ever SHUT it.”

You crawl away from the barricade.

Your soldiers will be here soon.

********

You shiver - your feet are bare. Your pants are barely at place. The taste of dusty leather is dull in the mouth. You open your eyes by the dim moonlight circle. Just another night. Another scratch to your wall calendar.

The scratches say it’s been eight days. Plus those you slept through, or those you spend hissing at Archimedes to stop…

Wait.

Listen.

Something is moving on your side of the barricade. It rolls. It breathes. Blood pumps through its veins. Red. Smooth. Rich.

Meat.

You crawl. Quietly. Quietly. You startle when it murmurs in its sleep… Then crawl again.

It smells like acorns and spirits.

Its fur is soft.

Its scream is short.

It claws at you, it wriggles, it drops its gun, tries to reach for it…

Pathetic.

It’s neck crunches between your teeth.

********

In the morning, you try to distribute the meat. You drag it into the warm sunlit spot of your lair, bare your teeth, look…

It’s a tiny Distillery Brother, barely even a morsel…

His coat is blue.

You hesitate. You are not Civilized. You do not devour your people, like some...

Your stomach growls.

Once on the battlefield you heard Archimedes say: “In death all meat is made equal”.

You hate to agree.

********

You lick the blood off your used bandage. You barely stop yourself from biting deeper into the wound.

You heard him talk to someone. He’s not forgotten. There’s still food there.

There’s still food.

You lie by the millstone, feel the damp soil beneath it.

He hasn’t spoken to you in days.

Outside of your head.

Inside, you keep hearing it, even in sleep.

“Scrumptious, juicy, tender…” and shrieks, and sounds of meat cut from the bone, sizzling in the pan…

You tear your glove away with your teeth.

Enough.

It’s not about your son.

It was never about your son.

You’re ready to dig.

********

It’s done. The claws of your remaining hand are worn to blood and bone. It took you hours, maybe days, but it’s done. When you felt he might be awake, you stopped digging, lay quietly in the dirt. You listened. You waited.

His quick feet are shot.

His teeth are weak.

You have nothing to fear.

And even if there were. Why should you care?

You look around. You see.

There. In another puddle of dim light.

A bag.

You get to it, slowly, slowly, you have grown so weak. Your mouth waters.

A feast.

Something jumps on your back. Something squeals and bites, and tries to get to your eyes.

Food.

You roll around the floor, trying, failing to bit through each other’s skin. You don’t let go, you won’t it’s your food, food, food.

You hear the voices above your head.

Both of you wait.

A few logs are lifted. There’s too much light.

Snouts. Swine. One-two-three, so many of them. They are here to take your food, aren’t they, yes, yes, you’re sure they are...

You two don’t wait for the answer.

You screech you jump, your maws open, your claws bare.

The firearm rings in your ears. Twice.

The pain is numb.

Archimedes finally lets go of your arm. You bite deeper into his tail.

You win.

As your brain drips from your crashed skull, mechanically…