Rachelle Mills

“Starvation is suffering,” she said. “Spare the suffering.”  His red-rimmed eyes find mine. It seems his floodwaters are still raging, deep enough that he is finding it difficult to swim. I will not let him drown.

The sudden compulsion to fall to my knees dissolves my bones into a jellyfish, without structure. To look upon her is to look through the salt of the sea as it stings my eyes. I have to blink and focus on something else, not all of her at once. Little parts, then look away. Look back, then away. It is hard to concentrate.  Sickle claws.  Blink my eyes.  —long fangs past her bottom lip. At times, she starts to wobble out of focus, but the sound never stops. Constant. Constant. Constant. 

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” I make sure to hold eye contact with Sayda as I hold her mate’s pup in my arms. The corners of my mouth pull upwards slightly.