Mother Nest

The pacifier pressed to my lips is made of cold glass. Third of the night, nothin’ special. Just bored. Saw my middle school teacher at the convenience store I bought this beer from. She didn’t recognize me. I didn’t recognize her either, till I heard the cashier say her name. Stirred up bad memories of failed tests. Ah, well. Something to reminisce about, I guess. As I walked out, that same cashier looked at me funny. Kinda pissed me off, but not enough to do something about it.

Grew up in the same house my whole childhood. I’m in a cheap, dimly lit apartment my parents are paying for now. And some day, I’ll end up in a funeral home. Really makes no difference to me what comes in between. Now that we’re all outta college, I just can’t stand the kids I’ve stuck around with ‘till now. Ricky’s no fun anymore. Cathy’s straightened out. Then here I am. Feel like I’m the only one who’s still sane. “Pike.” What a dumb fucking name. But I guess it’s me. Hardly even feels like it.

The shrink my folks bought me needs me to open up to people or something like that. S’all he’ll say. Guy just wants me to go out and do something. Everybody just wants me to do something. But I don’t like much ‘o anything, and all them shouting down at me from the rafters just paralyses me more than anything. Even if I feel like a damn freeloader with all the money they send me, it doesn’t motivate me to go out and make anything of myself. I get I’d probably sound depressed to most people. I dunno. Don’t wanna die or nothin’. Just feel like I kinda already am, and it’s waaaay too much stress trying to care. Geez… I bet I’d be a pain to listen to.

I scratch my jaw. Shit. Haven’t shaved in weeks. Maybe I am depressed. But I ain’t no genius. God, this is stressful. It’s all so stressful to just think about anything nowadays. Is this… what an adult is ‘sposed to be? Is this how the aliens I supposedly grew up with feel, in their nice houses, with their kids, and all that shit they gotta put up with for it? Not a chance. I’m just broken, and they’re just normal. I don’t want that stuff, and ‘cause o’ that, I just suck. Because no matter how hard you try, no matter what you say about it- that picket-fence life is the only salvation in this boring fucking toiletbowl dimension- and if you’re not really that kind of person… even if it just ain’t your aesthetic or whatever… man, I’m sorry to say it, but… what else is there to do? Get drunk, I guess.

Damn. Outta juice.

I go to the fridge. Plenty left. Okay, round four. I grab the nearest bottle. Ew. It’s warm. Whatever. Still tastes the damn same. I’ll save the colder ones for later, gimmie something to look forward to.

I was wrong. The beer tastes like absolute shit. Guess I’ve hit my limit, or maybe it’s just a bad batch. Wouldn’t explain why the last one was so goddamn middle-of-the-road normal. At least this one’s got some flavor, even if it is a defect. I kinda feel for this swamp juice-tasting crap. Speaks to me a little. I take another sip.

“You an’ me, shitty beer… we’re gonna forget the whole world.”

Three minutes later I’m coughing up blood.

“The fUCK-?”

I must’ve been hunched over this sink for like an hour. I think it’s falling off the wall.

The blood lasts for about an hour more, then it’s all shit and vomit. Just kinda back-and-forth between the two. Dunno how that’s supposed to work. My stomach is a damn perpetual motion machine. I think about my first time at a party while I go back and forth between sitting and kneeling over my own waste gathering in the bowl. I get so tired eventually that I just go lie on the couch, bodily functions be damned. Surprisingly, that seems to stop ‘em. Or maybe my systems have just gone numb. Either way… maybe it’s the loss of fluids, but immfeeling………

Next morning hits like a semi truck.

“Jesus fuck… what did I do to myself last night?”

I feel so goddamn fat…. my beer belly is more like a beer mountain right now, towering above me in my adled vision. It’s so big, my stomach feels hard. I rub my jaw. Yep, still need to shave. My veins are bulging. I need to chill the hell out before I pop a blood vessel. I look back down.

My vision clears. There’s a titanic grey tumor the size of Nebraska building up out of my torso. I scream, desperately trying to get up and run, but it’s too heavy to move. Not to mention it’s part of me. It’s warm- and vibrating. Practically shaking. And my arms- my arms are shivering. All the blood on my body seems to be going towards this thing… just what did I do to myself?

I try to punch the growth. Big mistake. It’s so sensitive, thing’s like being hit in the nuts with a baseball bat. I nearly bawl from the pain. Still better than what comes next. It starts fucking grumbling. Like a whining baby. And then my whole body feels it, too. I’m dying. I’m DYING. I throw myself off the couch, landing on my back- thankfully not crushing the unexplainable grey mass my body seems to have formed. I’ve never felt this way before- like I need to EAT. To DRINK. And NOW. It ain’t hunger, it’s NECESSITY. The compulsion is so strong that the strength I need to even move in this massive form arrives to me from seemingly nowhere. I stumble into the kitchen, trying to grab a beer, but for some reason my hands move to the tap and I start gargling water down my throat, all while my hands search the fridge for anything of nutritional value. In no time flat, I’ve eaten and drinken the whole kitchen’s stock. A month’s worth of food, gone in an instant. It hurts… but it feels so incredibly good.

“Mommy… do you care?”

I nearly fuckin’ jump out of my skin. Mommy? Did my fuckin’ stomach just call me Mommy?

“Mommy, I don’t wanna die.”

I laugh for a few minutes before responding. I dunno what was in that drink, but I must be tripping balls, dude.

“Why not? You ain’t gonna feel nothing.”

“I miss Mommy.”

“You wha?”

“I will miss Mommy… if I die.”

I pull myself up and stare down at the pulsating sphere on my tummy. Against my better judgement, I slap it. It feels like someone branded both my balls and then crushed them with a bulldozer just to get the point across.

“AGH- what the fuck- does that matter?! Look, if you- just forgot about “Mommy” or whatever, you’d be totally fine! Quit stressin’ yourself out over nothin’!”

“You love me.”

“I don't know what you are are and I definitely don’t fucking love you!” I scream at my belly. “I just explained why!”

“No. You’s scared because you love me.”

“Why the hell would I love you?!”

“Because you… my Mommy. If… if I die… that’s a thing that scares you.”

“Like I give a shit!”

“You very scared. Of ever big thing. Change. Die would be… change. Biggest of all. You love me. You love… everyone. That’s why… you’re always scared.”

“I don’t love a single person or alien baby hallucination on this entire EARTH! You gimme a button that blows up everyone but me, I’ll fuckin’ press it! Be a hell of a lot easier that way!”

“You just wanna be free. You’re so afraid of everyone because you love them so much. It hurt you… doesn’t it? I think Mommy… loves too much. Mommy want… a lovely world. And if Mommy can’t have it… you won’t have anything.”

“You dissin’ my apartment? And- hey, I ain’t your mom, you son of a bitch!”

“Don’t talk about yourself that way… it’s… make me sad.”

I take a knife from the counter and scream at the top of my lungs.

“I’M GONNA CUT YOU OFF ME!”

“No! Mommy, you…”

“SHUT UP!”

I rip down the knife all the way through the air, plunging all the force I can I to the blow. But as I stab my target, I feel nothing. Just the soft air, right above it.

“Mommy, you’re hurting.”

“I TOLD YOU TO-“

The knife falls out of my hand. I slump back on the ground. What’s… happening? This is… this is real. This ain’t fake, it’s… it’s really happening to me. Something unexplainable, happening to some random fuckup like me.

I start to cry.

“Mommy… can I have a name?”

“No. No, you can’t have a name.”

“Does Mommy have a name?”

“No, I… sh-shut the fuck up.”

“Then I will call you Mommy forever.”

We sit in silence in this wretched body for what feels like days.

“Mommy, I’m hungry again.”

“Y-yeah.”

I don’t need the counter to help me get up this time. I don’t even really want to, but I stand. I grab the last cup of ramen from my pantry. We eat it raw. Only the kid seems to taste it.

“Thank you, Mommy.”

“What even… are you?”

“A parasite from the only other populated planet in the entire universe.”

“That’s impossible.” I stutter.

“You don’t want it to be true.”

“It isn’t true.”

“Oh, it is. Mommy just don’t like thinking that not only is man not… alone in the galaxy, but there is, in fact… only one other form of intelligent life across all of space. That is… the most saddest possibility of all.”

“You’re destroying my body. My eyes sting.”

“You’re crying, Mommy.”

“I despise you.”

“I love you, Mommy.”

Over the next few weeks I become accustomed to my new life.

Massive amounts of ordered food arrive at my doorstep every morning, paid for by my parent’s money.

Eating all that is a struggle, and takes forever. Then we have to rest for even longer. It’s such a pain, I hardly have time to think about anything else.

“Mommy, give me a name.”

“Okay. Your name is dumbass. You got that? To me, you’re just a dumbass.”

“Thank you, Mommy. I love you.”

She grows even further in time. Slogging around on the ground, she’s larger than my entire body. An egg the size of my couch. When we rest, I often lie atop them.

“Mommy, you work so hard now.”

“Quiet.”

“I just wanted to tell you that.”

“Okay. Now shut up.”

“But you deserve to know.”

“I don’t really care.”

“That’s why I love you, Mommy.”

We eat together.

We sleep together.

Eventually, I start to feel what’s really going on here. As my body shrinks more and more, all the nutrients from our meals siphoned by my child, I slowly from the inside out. It feels a bit calming.

“Mommy, you’ve grown thin.”

“Mm. I’ve lost weight, yeah.”

“You’re getting old now, Mommy.”

“What’re you talkin’ about… haven’t hit thirty yet…”

“You’ve almost lived a whole entire life, m-Mommy…”

“W-what, are you gonna cry?”

“Mhm…”

“Why? At least have a goddamn reason…”

“I’m crying because… because Mommy’s finally gonna die.”

“Oh.”

As I’m serenaded by the sounds of my child’s wails, I feel the sharpest flame I’ve ever felt growing in my cold and dampened heart. I hate the noise so much… but it’s more real than anything else I’ve ever listened to. I hear it, and finally realize… that yeah… I’m alive.

Me and my child cry together until the moon shines in through the window above us.

“H-hey… dumbass…?”

“Mommy? Why are you… talking to me?”

“Just wanna say somethin’… s’all.”

“Y-yes, mommy?”

“I love you.”

“I love you to.”

My final days are spent on the same couch I got drunk on that one night.

I dunno how that parasite ended up on earth, much less in some bottle of shitty beer.

But I’m really, really glad I drank it.

I love you, baby.

I’m pregnant.

Even through my heart rarely beats,

I’m pregnant.

Even though I’m still a stupid kid,

I’m pregnant.

Even through I have no eggs,

I’m pregnant.

I cannot remember the father.

I cannot remember if I asked for what he gave me.

But I know that it is inside me.

Growing.

Pounding.

My child wants out.

But this mother bird lays no eggs.

And so she stands, cradling this child inside of her.

Restless.

Frightened.

But continuing nonetheless.

Searching for a home for this child.

This baby bird.

This blessed daughter.

All so that one day, she may replace her.

To be born into a better world.

One in which she may make her own choices.

One in which she may choose when she will give her own child.

One in which she may be herself.

And I go on,

Just for the sake of this child,

And nothing else.

Because I myself

Am just a nest

Nothing more

Than sticks

And a bit of sadness

Overcome by the life

I have chosen to protect.