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Jenesis
Senior Member
21. this emptiness that can't be filled feat. eli your neighborhood has a rat problem, and you're constantly hungry. you're only six years old, and yet your dad has been teaching you how to be a man. step one is to establish dominance. step zero is to learn to identify what it looks like, and who holds it. enter One-Eyed Tom. despite his scarred eye, he's consistently the biggest, fattest, and meanest of the local street cats. one day, on a lark, you decide to follow him. he loses you. he's too fast, too good at squeezing into places you can't. so you get better. you learn to run, learn to climb, learn to jump. some days, you almost feel like you could fly. and one of these days, he leads you to the swarmyard. you watch in fascination at the way he stalks and pounces for the kill. you imitate. but you're clumsy, your hands are weak. the rats scurry away. they mock you, just outside the edge of your reach. the next time you return, you don't have claws, but you do have a knife. ( a child-sized thing, but your dad would be damned if you couldn't be arsed to learn how to feed yourself. ain't you wanna be a man, after all? ) the day you take down your first rat, One-Eyed Tom finally takes notice of you. by this time a year later, it seems he's regarded you as something of a respectable hunting partner. some days you go on rampages through the streets. you always back off until Tom's had his fill, and he gives you the extras. you sell them to the kebab mongers for a respectable price (as is custom in these parts, they don't ask, and you don't tell), and can finally buy yourself some real food to eat. if Dad ever notices, he never says anything. you're eight years old the day One-Eyed Tom vanishes. you don't look for him - just as he's never looked for you - but you keep an eye out. a week later, following the stench of blood and rot, you track him down. he's dug into the crawlspace of an abandoned building. he bristles when you approach, but as you get closer, he recognizes your familiar scent. he's noticeably thinner than usual as you coax him out. you see his leg is mangled - it has to be a car, you realize, an anger you didn't know you had rising up inside you - you refuse to believe he'd lose a fight like this to anyone, cat or dog or man. it scrapes along the ground as he walks, and you know he must be in constant pain. tentatively, you extend a hand. it's the first time you've ever touched a cat. you didn't expect them to be so soft. he doesn't protest when you scoop him up in your arms and carry him home. you eat well tonight. as it turns out, One-Eyed Tom is the first friend you put out of their misery. he won't be the last. |
