In The Flesh(Teeth)

2

"I know I'm lost, but what scares me the most is that I'm starting to feel at home." - Strange Comfort by The Color Morale
___________

Where am I?

My head swims and my eyes seem glued shut. I feel dust settling on my face and I can taste the grit in my teeth.

I slowly peel one eye open and stare at the ceiling of my prison. An uneven expanse of dark brown rock greets my eyes, a light dust trail trickling down as movement ensues above.

I groan as I hear sounds of others shuffling about, and it comes crashing back down on me all over, like it has every morning since I've been here. I'm in the blood farm, and probably will be until the Breathers pick up this Caprisun and suck it dry.

I press my hands to my eyes, digging my fingers into my scalp. I curse myself and the people in here and the Breathers. Then I swing myself off of the hard cot and swipe the curtain covering the doorway to my quarters, shuffling out of my hole.

A long hallway lies outside, filled with curtained-off rooms. I pad down the hall, following the cement path as it curves right, and come to the large open area of the blood farm.

A dozen crude steps lead down to a large space. In the far right corner is cafe. If I close my eyes and pretend really hard, I can convince myself that there's grilled cheese and roast chicken waiting for me.

In the left corner is another dirt hallway that leads to an underground spring, for bathing. The last two corners lead to work areas.

My stomach urges me to the cafe. Simple wooden tables with plastic crates serve as eating areas. Backed up against the wall is the serving area, a door behind that leads to the cooking area.

I make my way to the serving area, refusing to make eye contact with the lady serving. She hands me a bowl full of bland mush, a few chunks of strawberries thrown in.

Others file in after me, sitting down quietly at the tables.

"You're on farm duty today."

I look up from my sludge and see Tommy sitting before me. Tommy has been in the farm for a year. He's probably the only one who's been here that long. Everyone else got sucked up. The rest of us are just sitting chickens for the picking.

His white skin is smudged with dirt, his cornflower eyes bright coins in his dirty canvas. He rubs his buzzed head and stares at me.

"Wonderful." I say and return to my 4-star oatmeal surprise.

"Kid," he says.

I poke my spoon into the tan mush and extract a strawberry.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Don't cut any open."

Tommy stands and leaves. I stare after his shaved head and conclude that Tommy is possibly mad.

X

I've entered the lower right room today. I've only been in the actual blood farm a handful of times. Each time was just as haunting.

The room is pretty much just a large hallway that leads to a metal door. The lock was long beaten off, and it's not like anything behind the door would need a lock anyways. None of them even know they're in there.

I follow the small stream of people through the hallway, gathering myself at the door. And then we're through and I'm greeted by a strange yet beautiful sight.

It's a huge room, the walls black rock that looks shiny and feels like metal. The floor is the same color, but has a less slippery feel. Spread throughout the room are a dozen and a half rows of sacs that hang from the ceiling.

The sacs look like something from an alien mothership.

They hang gently from the ceiling like meat in a butchers locker from a thick cord of mucus that is anchored in the black rock above. The egg-shaped cocoons are a dusky pink that resembles the soft color of a woman's lips. A gentle glow comes from within, red veins standing out in the skin of the sack as they gently pulse.

Captivating to look at at, what lies inside them is much more horrifying.

Within each sac is a human. We call them blood slaves, because that's what they're kept in there for. I shudder at the thought of being put in one of the sacs, unconscious and unable to comprehend that that was I was going to spend the rest of my life. Sucked of every drop of my blood and then discarded.

Most of the sacs carry blood slaves. The last row on the right belongs to those of the females who carry Breather babies. I've never had to care for the sacs. That task is left to the females who weren't taken in as carriers.

I take quiet steps towards my assigned row of sacs, which is labeled row E.

Sac duty means checking for problems, and that's what I do.

I go down the row, absentmindedly inspecting the sacs. Midway down, I notice a puddle of white liquid beneath a sac. I stop and crouch to inspect.

I consider a few safety and hygiene precautions, then I poke a finger into it. As I pull my finger away, the substance stretches. I pull my head back in disgust and immediately fling my finger to dislodge the white stuff.

Forgetting how close I am to the sac, my hand strikes the bulbous cocoon and sinks into it. The skin of the sac is soft like rotten fruit and damp to the touch. It makes a soft sloshing sound as it swings from the contact.

"Shit!" I hiss.

Touching the sac is definitely going to land me trouble. My heart pumps as I wildly pop my head up and look to see if anyone can see the giant sac swinging around. No one shouts and I can't see anyone looking. I fall back to my knees and stare at the sac.

Strings of white drip down to the floor and join the puddle. I follow the drip of goo and see a small slit in the side of the sac. The soft pink edges of the cut in the sac puff out and ooze. I stand to inspect, but as I do, the sac suddenly jerks and I freeze.

The surface of the sac begins to stretch outwards, outlining the shape of a hand. The dark shadow of a limb behind the thin membrane lifts and jostles the sac once more.

I open my mouth to shout for help, and then a strange zipping sound falls into the quiet room.

The sound dies in my mouth and I stare at the hole in the sac, which had widened from the swinging and stretching.

At that moment, I realised that the people in the sacs weren't comatose. They were alive.

________

A/N

*Shaves manly beard and glowers at young boy face in mirror*

Vote/Comment?