IAMA human being. AMA

Sometimes I forget that I am a human being and I don't care that you're hungry or that a hurricane blew the roof off of your house or that you've lost your way and are lost and tired and scared. Sometimes when I read about the horrible things that have happened to you and yours I just shrug and carry on with whatever it was I was doing at the time, like clipping my toe nails or tweezing the hairs in my armpits. 

Sometimes I wish you'd fall on your face and skin your knees through your pants and even if you're wearing some made out of a really sturdy fabric like thick denim you'll be picking at itching scabs and strands of loose skin for weeks. Sometimes I wish you'd bite the inside of your cheek so bad it swells up into a tender little knob that you just keep accidentally biting on every time you eat something and even when you're not chewing your tongue will seek out the bitten spot and prod it relentlessly. Sometimes I wish you'd miss your last bus and drop your winter mittens in a puddle of polluted city water. Sometimes when I hear on the news that your country has been subject to another school shooting or another terrorist attack all I can think about is how much I don't care and how little the lives of those lost mean to me. 

Sometimes I'll stub my toe and I'll wish that concentration camps were still up and running, that slavery was still legal and that no amount of charity fundings will ever ease or end your hunger or your suffering. Sometimes I have to bite my tongue to keep from smacking you right across your stupid fucking face. 

And, you know, I saw on the news about your missing baby girl and sometimes I wish she turns up dead.



But then I remember that I am a human being.

A daily night-terror?

Waking up to these guys hovering around me like starving flies, rubbing their spindly little hands together and wordlessly begging me for scraps. Early mornings and midnights have never felt as charged, as loaded, as strained as they do these days. In the beginning of June I felt something loosen inside of me and since then I've been playing this waiting game with myself, waiting for things to fall into place, waiting for further instructions. Everyone is bargaining but no one has yet the upper hand so the price for my affection is at an all-time low.

How is it that I started to change at this specific time? Was every beer and every kiss aligning to point me in this direction? For once I'm not seeking the easy way out and, consequently, I have never been more scared in my life.







Image art courtesy of: Anton Semenov

Episode

The bench I sat on while waiting for my train was drilled to the floor, which was a good thing for me since the only thing that stopped me from running across the turnstile and flinging myself in front of one of the moving trains was clutching hard with both hands to the armrest of said bench and squeezing my eyes shut as tightly as I could. No, I don't want to die and I didn't five minutes from that precise moment either, but for a precious few minutes, or it might only have been seconds, I was loose and all my instincts were telling me to jump. Except the meek survival instinct that from the very back of my brain did the chemical equivalence of going "ahem, excuse me? excuse me, hello?" and as I have trained myself to listen for it I heard it and let it reason with me. Still, the sweat was literally dripping off my face and for a moment there I was already dead, or perhaps only grievously mauled against the rail road tracks, I saw my life snuffed out and everyone I've ever met was bawling their eyes out at my funeral. Then suddenly I was alive again, realizing the whole scenario was ridiculous and the passing train was picking up speed again. No blood on the tracks, no blood spattered against the white tunnel walls, no train driver traumatized for life by the sight of a human body having the ick and goo spluttered out of it against his windshield.

I was just going home, but I can be anywhere at anytime and I always have to be ready to fight these urges. These episodes become less and less frequent but as they decrease in occurrence my defenses get more and more lax and I fall increasingly easier prey to them and the lowly voice of reason, the one that exists to ensure my future survival has been drowned out more than once already.

I know that I am weak but in itself that knowledge is the strength that keeps me alive.

The innocence of sinners

They picked up my trail easily enough. The blood was seeping from between my legs, its pungent smell smearing off onto my surroundings every time I stumbled and was sent sprawling to the ground. How long had I been running? Hours? Days? Between the shrieks and growls coming from the pack behind me all I could hear was the increasingly painful throbbing of my own anemic heart. I could hear their panting and and the excited whines of the younger cubs, mixed with the occasional cold piercing cry of the alpha male. Our alpha male. The one closest to me in kin and sex and the one who had first spotted the blood, who had licked it from my trembling fingers and with a roar declared me an outlaw. The pain of the memory overwhelmed me and I stumbled and sank to my knees dry heaving and clutching the irrepressibly pounding heart in my chest and I cried out, calling out to my pack, to anyone who could hear me, calling out that I had stopped running and would be an easy prey to their judgement. Let them come for me. Just let it end.

Before I started bleeding I had been an alpha myself. That was back when we didn’t know the difference between our sexes and weren’t so easily distracted by the scent of each other. There was me, another female, our alpha male and roughly seven more young males in our pack. Me and the alpha male were strong and remained unchallenged, leading our pack with equally divided responsibility, sheltering them from adults such as their parents, teachers, the principal and any other grownups who could possibly pose a threat to our childhood and our games. We were happy. We were alive and living each day together, caring for each other, fighting one another. The occasional fight would end in bloodshed and scarring because we were all so young, so unaware of the strength of our fists as well as the frailty of our bodies. We were the strongest pack in the entire playground.

Then my body started revolting against me. My chest started swelling and hurting as if some alien was trying to burst through, to force my flesh to align into the curves of a woman, a grownup. The pain was unbearable at times and I would growl and snap at anyone who came close to me, particularly the other female in the pack who, while being a full year older than me, still remained smooth and unbroken. When I first noticed the blood it had leaked through my clothing and there was nothing else to do for me but run. Our alpha male who had grown to fear my temper over the last few days chased after me and when he caught the difference in my scent he immediately grew stiff, his hackles raised, and he started furiously tearing at my clothing, trying to free me from the blood and the stench, in his own childlike mind trying to save me. I clawed him, scratched him, openly challenged his authority over me and at the sound of our fight the rest of the pack came running. Soon they were gathered around me, towering over me, the female hissing and snarling, the males drooling and panting. I knew then that I was lost to them. The child they had known had grown into an unrecognizable being whom they could no longer read, no longer relate to, and all that was left was the infuriating scent of my blood and their lust, their need to kill me and to bury their muzzles in my flesh and drink my blood. So I ran.

And now I lie waiting, alone in this cold and strange world known as adolescence. There are others like me here. I cannot see them but I hear them screaming, hear the thundering of their packs gaining on them, as mine will soon gain on me. I know they’re only following their alpha, following the only thing that’s real in this place where their childish instincts are unable to discern the difference between enemy and pack, where only the smell of blood is strong enough. I wait for them in this foreign place. When they finally catch me I will bear my throat to our alpha and let him drink the life from this being that is no longer me.

Caught

I hated walking home in rush hour traffic. Endless streams of cars honking and people whizzing past me way too fast for comfort. I stopped at a red light along with a clump of people and I sighed, wanting to just get home so I could kick off my boots and curl into bed with the latest crossword puzzles. And then suddenly something caught my eye. A face, one which stood out in the crowd. A girl. I froze and looked at her. She was… beautiful. Not in a conventional way, she had a high forehead and a substantial nose but there was something about her that made it impossible to avert my gaze from her. Her hair was long and a golden pale yellow that framed her face and fell in ringlets down her shoulders before coming to rest on her chest, bracketing the band logo on her shirt. Suddenly, as if sensing me staring, she turned her head and looked directly at me and I felt my entire body flash hot and my face blushed, burning, as our eyes met. Hers were light greenish blue with a darker circle around the iris and her lashes were black and slightly curved. She smiled and tossed her hair, the light catching it and sending glints of copper along the strands. She held my gaze.

Enthralled I moved closer and as I did so she moved towards me as well. My heart was pounding, loud in my ears and hard against my chest as I neared her. As her smile widened she wrinkled her nose and showed a neat row of small teeth and I noticed that she had a small birthmark on her right cheek, like a fleck of dirt on the otherwise so light and fair skin. She was so beautiful. We were now standing close, our toes almost touching, and she leaned forward until our faces were only inches apart.

“My”, she said. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

I blushed even harder and stuttered something unintelligible. She cocked her head to one side and winked at me, obviously pleased with my flustered appearance.

“What’s your name?” I asked, too dumbstruck to think of anything else to say.

“You”, she answered.

“Me, what?” I said, feeling like a moron.

She tossed her head back and laughed.

“My name is You”, she said. “Y-O-U”. She winked again and coquettishly bit her lower lip. “Kiss me”.

She moved closer still and I felt myself leaning in towards her, almost as if someone was pushing me from behind. Our bodies pressed together and a low moan escaped me.

“You’re so beautiful”, I gasped and her face fogged over. I closed my eyes and my lips parted slightly and met the cold glass of the mirror.