My living space was small but it was cozy enough. Lots of dull colors like whites, blacks, and greys. The factory didn’t have enough money to paint walls to our liking, which I understood. This was better than anything I had endured.
In all, there was a living room that consisted of a coffee table, couch, bookshelf, incinerator/fireplace, telephone, delivery chute, and a hidden door that only opened for certain people, leading to the slaughtering machines. No television. Ever. The children mustn’t figure out. Then to the left were two doors, one that led to the bathroom, the other to my bed room.
My room had a king sized bed, a big white dresser, another book shelf, and a door to the children’s room. The children’s room probably had the most in it, toys, dresser, bed, crib, little table. The works. And that was the whole house.
We were never permitted to go out. We had to stay here. Only the children when ready were sent to the slaughter house. I’d live here for the rest of my life taking care of children. And I was content with that.
“Mommy, like my picture?” Jane asked, holding it up for me to see. I looked up from my current book and nodded. Her plump hands shook from too much sugar, tightly holding onto her drawing that I could only guess were donuts. She was at the fragile age of four and not that skilled yet, so no surprise there.
It usually took around the age of eight for them to be sent away. I still had about 4 years with my darling Jane. She was my favorite so far. Just a complete angel. Was it bad to have favorites? In this situation, having favorites wasn’t exactly the worst sin anyway. It didn’t matter when compared to the bigger picture.
“It’s beautiful, Janey.” She giggled and continued coloring. “Do you want some more treats?” I asked, peering over my novel. Seeing her nodding fervently, I got up and grabbed the nozzle to the telephone. “Twelve dozen donuts, a cup of milk, and a coffee please.”
The meal slid right in and I set everything up on the coffee table. The overweight little girl automatically dived in, stuffing herself as fast as she could. I turned to my book and sipped my coffee. Sometimes I saw them as little grubs, nasty maggots devouring as much they could. Downright repulsive. But I’d grown accustomed to it. I’d eaten like that before, but in very different circumstances.
Entranced at the story I was reading, I didn’t notice right away my child starting to struggle. I looked over and spied her grasping her chest tightly with what seemed to be laboring breaths. My eyes widened as I rushed over to her.
“What’s wrong, Jane?” She tried to cry out, her face turning a red-ish purple, tears streaming over her chubby cheeks. “Where does it hurt!?” She attempted to gasp to no avail. I had no medical history. It wasn’t a requirement for the job so.. I had no idea what to do.
I rushed over to the telephone nozzle,pretty surprised no one in surveillance had sent someone to assist me with the situation. “Please send someone quick! Jane is.. having a heart attack maybe!? Ch-choking?! Just someone hel-”
Just then, someone in a white suit, similar to an astronaut’s, came in through another hidden door, forbidden to me. “Y-you’re going to help her, right!?” They silently tromped over to her and injected her with a green liquid. I watched impatiently and observed as her breathing slowed. Eventually it came to a complete stop.
“I-is she okay..?” Suddenly her arms, legs, whole body inflated. It all looked thick though, like I was somehow watching her become stuffed full of lard. Jane cried, still struggling. I just chewed my nails, watching in horror.
She continued sobbing, even after it all stopped. My hands trembled and I felt extremely nauseous. “What.. what did you do to her?” Without answering, they started dragging her towards the slaughter conveyor belt on the other side of the hidden door.
“No! I need to give her one last thing! Please!” I pleaded, rushing over and leaning against the door. They forced the door open but I held onto Jane and kissed her forehead. The mark of my last farewell to all my children and the seal of their first arrival. Just a habit I had developed and I felt as though I’d always be with them somehow from the mere lipstick stain.
They pulled her from me and slung her in, slamming the door afterwards. I watched silently as they walked back through the door they came in and as it became one with the wall like nothing had even happened.
Ding! I look over. Another baby. For once, another child didn’t cheer me up. The tears continued. I felt a burning fire in my chest towards the company, then I remembered. Remembered my life before and was humble once again.
I slowly crawled over to the baby, noting it was once again wrapped in pink swaddle. Gently scooping her up I sighed. “King Lear, I’m stealing your youngest’s name. Huh, Cordelia?” I said aloud, wiping away some tears. Cordelia cooed softly in her sleep and I smiled.
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He threw me a rib and I surprisingly caught it. Must’ve been the hunger. I had become an animal, my only purpose to eat. To get food. Somehow.. “Slow down, kid.”
YOU ARE READING
The Caregiver's Flies
Ficțiune științifico-fantasticăShe took this job without knowing the mental impact it would have on her. She gave up her free will for it. She raises children for the slaughter house, just so she can read a book.
