Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 66904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Wrath reaches out and squeezes my shoulder.
“You feel like a son to me,” he says. “I know that’s a strange thing to say, seeing as none of us were raised by fathers, but I want you to know I’ve taken an interest in you. I’d like to see you mate well. We deserve to live the way we should, you and I.”
This is only the second time in my life a saurian in a position of authority has taken a shine to me. The first time changed my life…
Many years ago…
“There’s something wrong with him.”
“I know. He’s a creepy little thing. But it’s not his fault.”
I am four years old, and I can hear the nursemaids talking about me. They talk about me a lot. I disturb them. They never say it to my face, but even if I did not overhear them, I would see the disgust in their expressions when they look at me.
“Is it just his eyes?”
“I don’t think so. There’s something about him. He’s not one thing or another. He’s not a predator. He’s not a tank.”
“Must have been an interesting mating.”
“His egg was left on the doorstep. A home-lay.”
“There’s a lot of home-laying at the moment.”
I listen to them prattle to one another, not understanding most of what they say, but knowing that everything about me is weird, and strange, and bad. It is a heavy burden that makes a dark weight sink from my chest to my belly. I don’t know what the feeling means either, but I know it’s bad.
The others are playing, running around and shrieking their heads off. I am sitting still. I don’t run unless there’s a reason to, and no reason is not a reason.
Most of the other whelplings are little chunky creatures with round bellies and generous arms, big heads atop their bodies. The nurses pick them up regularly and play with them often. A little yellow-scaled female saurian with a flare on her head and short little nubs of horns running over her forehead has been carried around for hours it seems.
I am taller than the other hatchlings. I do not have their rotund build. I am short, but I am already broad shouldered and covered in muscles. I can climb out of all the pens and partitions they try to keep us behind. I can run faster than all the other whelplings, even those who were hatched in earlier incubations.
I sit still and I wish that I felt some kind of warmth. There are heat lamps, of course, but it’s not the same as being held. The nursemaids pick up the others sometimes, but I don’t know why they never seem to want to hold me.
One of the nursemaids is passing, so I stretch out my arms to be picked up. We must all take our turns. That’s what they are always telling us.
“No, Shan,” Nurse Marnie says. “It’s Elva’s turn.”
Elva is a little purple-winged saurian. She has bright violet eyes and she giggles readily as the nurse scoops her up.
“Up! Up!” I have limited verbal skills, but I know how to tell her what I want.
“Wait your turn,” she says curtly.
I have not been picked up in more than three days. I ache with loneliness. Sadness quickly turns to something else: anger. Deep anger. More anger than I can really fit inside my body. Sometimes the other whelpings scream and shout and cry. I don’t do that. I never have. Maybe I cried once, a very, very long time ago, but I don’t think it did me any good.
Nurse Marnie walks around the corner and I hear her talking to the Matron. Matron is kind, but old. She has overseen the nursery forever. She walks with a hunch and we all know that her knees and back hurt. She is kind in a way no others are kind. It goes deeper.
“Black eyes is complaining again. We should have crushed that egg.”
“We incubate all eggs, regardless of provenance. And we tend to all young, regardless of their appearance.” Matron sounds disapproving, but Nurse Marnie doesn’t care. She keeps talking in that tone the nurses use when they think we aren’t listening or just don’t understand.
“I don’t like touching him. He gives me the creeps.”
My hands ball into fists.
Two predatory hatchlings come running past. They are slightly unsteady on their big feet. Their jaws are open as they pretend to fight with one another.
I am angry. I am angrier than anybody else. They are happy, and I hate them for it. The feeling is a big red ball inside me, and it moves from my chest to my stomach and emanates throughout me.
I let out a roar, but it is not a playful shriek like theirs. It is a full roar, a sound that comes from somewhere deep inside me, maybe even beyond me. It is so fearsome, both of the other hatchlings stop in their tracks. I throw myself at them, following rage and instinct. I don’t know what I am doing. I have never seen a fight before, but my body knows what to do. I start to hit the others. I hit them with all the feelings that appeared inside me when I heard the nurse talking about me. I hit them and I hit them.