I’m taken through tunnels.

To a room.

Dropped on the floor.

Like luggage.

The Fetchers leave.

I stay.

There’s a table in front of me.

It’s made of grey branches.

The branches rise up into thin sticks.

The sticks curl open like fingers.

On the other side of it, in the darkness, something moves.

I get up. Fight. Escape.

Only I don’t. I can’t move.

Not my fingers.

Nor my toes.

I can only feel.

Only look.

The thing comes out of the shadows.

The Feed is large. White. Thin.

He has legs like broomsticks and arms that reach to his feet.

He bends to inspect me.

His eyes are mirrors.

I can see my frozen face.

I look terrified.

I am terrified.

The Feed grabs my wrist.

Drags me across the room.

My head is clutched.

Long fingers dig into my skull.

He lifts me off the ground.

I want to snarl.

Yell.

Bite.

But I can’t.

My body is placed onto the table.

The Feed brings his face centimetres from my own.

His breath is on my cheek.

His mirror-eyes peer into my brain.

He keeps his gaze on mine. Rears back.

Pushes aside the clothes covering my stomach.

His fingers press below my belly button.

My flesh tears in two.

I scream.

Only my mouth doesn’t work.

He holds up his hand. Colours drip from his fingers.

As if I’m bleeding rainbows.

He eats what’s inside our insides.

The Feed swallows down a strip of green.

A faint glow fills his skin. Fades away.

He peels away another piece of me.

Then another.

My eyes leak hot tears.

My throat rips itself apart with screams I can’t scream.

The pain’s going to kill me.

It doesn’t.

I live.

I feel.

I hurt.