Smother
Sibling hatred, a game I know all too well.
I am not good enough. I never have been, I never will be. It’s carousal that never stops turning; a consistent loop of a song that hums mother and father didn’t want you, mother dropped you, father hurt you, brother replaced you. A beautiful song really on consistent replay that is literally the reason for my meandering here in the meadow, now.
See, if I had been loved and cherished and held tightly I wouldn’t be aimlessly wandering around the meadow looking homeless and dirty.
I feel dirty.
Blood means nothing to me. All blood has done is boil in my veins and keep my heart from stopping. Blood relatives have ruined me internally, I am forever in their grasp and yet forever in their debt. They gave me life, but they also didn’t care to watch me die. I hate them, I am haunted by them, but I am here because of them.
See what I mean by this carousal of doom?
The meadow has become my sanctuary in more ways than not. With the sun already at afternoon heights, the baking heat is putting a damper on my mood. However, the watering hole has been relaxing and soothing and is the only thing that seems to be removing the blood stains from my otherwise pristine white and brown coat. Scars still taint my frame and bruises still mark my legs but at least the blood is draining from my coat.
I feel Turkish glide around my belly, the only thing visible is his petite snout to allow him to breath oxygen. He loves the water, in fact it is the only thing that seems to make him tolerable.
I can hear you, is what he says at my inside comment on his aggressive character. He is a Burmese Python, something tells me he wasn’t meant to be gentle and loving.
It has been a full twenty-four hours at his side and Lord knows how badly I need space. Lord knows how much a long for some air of my own to breath without being accompanied by a reptile looped around my neck like some tacky necklace.
I pin my ears, a show of my irritation by his consistent meddling in my brain, before nuzzling at the water beneath me.
I begin to wade myself from the pool, feeling a very faint gust of air tickle at my sides providing a sense of cool relief. Turkish isn’t far behind me, slithering his ten-foot body along the sand and grass.
I just cleaned myself, let me on.
No, Turkish. You’re filthy.
I practically feel his frustrated energy waft over me, instantly giving me that same sort of belly aching anger.
I wish he didn’t have such effect on me.
I feel his skin wrap up my front left leg, pale albino tones complimenting my own pelt colour beautifully. He is slung around my neck, wrapped three times in a few short seconds. I feel his cold damp body sooth my withers.
Onward, trusty steed.
Shut up.
Meandering the meadow is far more entertaining than I can begin to admit. And unfortunately, Turkish’s commentary boosts my mood plenty. Sometimes, rarely, I find him useful and good company.
Especially when we agree on things.
I wish to be young again. I am young, but I mean child-young. I mean fresh out of the womb and damp from the placenta, young. I want to be naïve and perfect, cute and adorable. When I was young, my father thought of me like some sort of unexplainable present.
Until I started growing.
Until I started looking like her.
That is when my father became him. Because much like her, he abandoned me as well.
As soon as things began to struggle, I got dumped.
And then dumped again.
A newborn child is playing amongst the shadows and I want to bet her mother isn’t too far off.
I imagine transforming into my counter part, my own Burmese python boddess, and slinking over to the child stealthy and quiet. I imagine looping up her neck and watching the whites of her eyes show in a paralyzed fear. I imagine sinking my heavy fangs into her flesh, blood edging up from the pressure and feeling her body become weak. Feeling her legs begin to crumble at the weight of my own body. My long frame wrapping around her, contracting and suffocating her till her last breath escapes her flaming nostrils.
No sound.
No warning.
Just death.
If you would rather not have blood on your hands, I am happy to oblige. I haven’t eaten in a long time. I could go for a filly-steak.
I smirk at his gesture, Turkish, probably the only creature who yearns to kill as much as I do.
You need bigger prey.
Can I kill him to save him from a lifetime of embarrassment?
I follow his gaze. Puppy like actions splash about in the water like a child.
I adjust my stance and cock my head to the side in consideration.
You would get bit in the process.
Can we, at the very least, go mock him?
I always love a little game of mockery.
I walk up, bold and strong. I feel Turkish tighten around my neck as he uses muscles to raise his head from hanging by my shoulder. I stop, a courteous distance away from the panting mutt. My eyes follow his pelt, ignoring the feeling of Turkish gliding off my body.
In an instance, I am morphing to ground level. My body contracts and condenses till I am but a twin to Turkish, our only difference is our colours. He may be albino, but I am a mess of deep chocolate and black hues with subtle cream lines.
Two Burmese Pythons, perhaps not the best committee but I feel if he wishes to hide his equine identity, why can I not?
“Smother.” I say with a certain hiss floating off my tongue. I left my body, the front part, my tongue easing in and out of my mouth to sense his body.
“I like playing too.”
