In The Flesh(Teeth)

1

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Splat.

I stare listlessly at the glob of brown rice as it falls into my paper cup.

The woman, her fleshy arms swaying and her ample breasts heaving, spoons three cubes of meat onto the rice. She hands me a cup of water and looks behind me for the next person.

I turn, stare at the line of people waiting. They are dirty, gray, and washed out. Shadows haunt their eyes and their mouths are pulled down at the corners. They all have the same forlorn face.

Hollow shells of who they were.

Hell, I'm sure I have that face,too. Being held like livestock set to be slaughtered can do that to a person.

How did I end up in this hellhole?

I've angrily asked myself this question over and over again. My mind refuses to tell me, pulls blanks.

What memory I do have leading up to the hold is foggy. I can only remember screaming and fighting and the hostile faces of the Breathers, long tongues flailing and teeth snarling and gnashing.

Here I am, in a hold, imprisoned by the Breathers with at least a hundred other people.

Within the hold, we refer to it as a blood farm. Humans are kept in the blood farm for later use by the Breathers. Kept in our pen, every week a couple of people leave. Their blood is consumed by the Breathers, the flesh fed to the young ones.

The outcome is even worse if there are females to be caught. The females are implanted with an embryo of one of the breathers and placed in a membranous sac while the baby grows inside them. The sac keeps the mother alive with nutrients and warmth. Later, the infant rips the mother to shreds and devours her.

Welcome to the world, bouncing baby Breather! Have a tasty mother!

I'm not sure what exactly happens to the blood slaves, who are taken from the hold. I have heard rumors that they are also held in a sac until a Breather happens along and wants a snack.

How did we get here?

We didn't stand a chance against the Breathers. They came out of the night, ruthless and cruel black shapes.

People go missing. It's always been that way: someone killed, kidnapped, run away. It took a while to notice that more people were going missing than normal. Then the stories drifted down to the ones clustered in cities, those that weren't easily picked off.

Stories of tall grey shapes, long tongues and sharp teeth, orange eyes and spindly limbs. Grey shapes that easily tore limb from limb. Shapes that ripped open prey and sucked the poor bastard dry.

Some victims were torn apart viciously, intestines and organs sprawled on the ground. Others were hollow shells, the skin thin and papery and white, devoid of color, of blood. Still more, people just disappeared. Taken away to a blood farm. Of course, we didn't find out about those for a while.

The Breathers didn't announce themselves, didn't make speeches of overpowering us. They simply appeared and attacked.

The attacks only happened at night. News of them spread quickly, through news reports and papers and radios and social media. At first, we thought the tellings of beings that could easily rip us apart were all part of a joke or some movie propaganda. Except, secretly, little seeds of doubt had planted themselves and grown, twisted black weeds that seeped fear and panic.

It didn't take long for the Breathers to reach across the globe- though where it started, no one entirely knew.

In one neighborhood, a family enjoyed a night together, dinner and a movie and homework and life. Then the pounding would start up as a Breather threw itself at the doors, struggling to get in. And eventually, it did. Killed the entire family, left without a trace, leaving only blood and guts.

And so they spread, one house and apartment and trailer and shack and mansion at a time. They weren't picky- killed some, took others. The attacks were always at night, and that helped for a little while.

We became comfortable with the day, believing that they couldn't come out while the sun was shining, reassured by its buttery yellow light. We barricaded our doors, cemented our windows. Locked up everything tight at night and clutched our weapons and waited for one of them to come and find us. Once the night broke, we relaxed our grips, let ourselves relax and breathe in the air of a fresh new day, exhaled the poison of a night spent in terror.

Then, just when we thought we had advantage, a fighting chance, they began taking people in broad daylight. And just like that, our light was expertly blown out and smothered. There was no where to run, hide, feel safe.

Somewhere between the night and day attacks, the military decided to take action. They used whatever they had in their arsenal. It took a good number out, but then the Breathers took over and wrested control of the arms. Just like that, nothing and no one could protect us but ourselves.

Most of us fled our homes, believing that we could escape to the farthest reaches of the world and be safe. We packed up our cans and clothes and water and set out. Hiking, biking, walking. Always in the shadows. In cracks and caves and tunnels where no one else could find us.

It worked, for the most part. Breathers had started to go after the big groups, less prone to get at loners. The groups were easier targets, so readily consumed. And so it became a rule:

Never travel in a group.

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A/N

*swallows manly pride*

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