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Wood splinters between my jaws, tiny fibrous shards biting into gum and cheek and tongue. The sap-sodden tang of pine caresses my taste buds, and the blood that joins it is sweetest sugar. Marionette eyes stare unseeing as I chew their puppet flesh and dance on strings not my own, acting out the urges of another.
Mother watches, clearly pleased by my meal. The marionettes are only the newest visitors, not loved the way she loves me, her first and finest creation. "Eat well," she says as I bite into unrelenting wood until my teeth press hard into my gums.
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Originally published in Nom Nom by Black Hare Press.