There’s a sudden, sharp crack that reverberates through the room. You turn around, because big brother probably broke something again and you wonder if you’ll have to give away your new ragdoll to replace it, so you already have your little toy clutched defiantly to your chest when something warm and wet splashes across your face.

The scene is asynchronous and you don’t quite understand, because Mama should be cooking dinner, not lying on the ground; and big sister should have two arms, not one; and why is big brother yelling, because it’s almost time to eat and Papa gets mad when supper is delayed. You’re about to open your mouth to say as much when your brother’s voice falls silent and he falls down too, and you’re wondering why his head is bent all the way around like that.

You still don’t understand when you see Papa lean over Mama and kiss her stomach, don’t they know it’s time for dinner? You want to call out to them, to tell them that you’re hungry, but then Papa stands up with scarlet smeared all over his face and entrails hanging out from his mouth as pink, flesh-like noodles and –

– and you scream.

.

Hunger gnaws at your insides, your mind (Mama) so you yell and you cry, (brother) you claw and you bleed, (sister), you hunger (Mama) yell (brother) cry (sister) thirst (Mama) claw (brother) bleed (sister) hunger (Papa) hunger (Papa) hunger (Papa) hunger (Papa) HUNGER –

– and then you look at the monster that ate your family and think, What monster? It’s only Papa, just the same as when you crept up behind him as he gorged himself on your sister’s guts. His head is still in the corner where you tossed it, staring at you with the eyes that watched over you, protected you, loved you.

Your nails are already gone, leaving darkened stains on the doors that would not open, and there are no tears left to shed. You stare at the head, no longer choking on the stench of rot and decay, and you can feel his love once more. Through his glassy eyes and grotesque mouth, you can hear him telling you it’s okay.

That’s why you do it.

.

You tear rancid flesh from crumbling bone with bloodied nails, dulled teeth, thinking –

“Papa, I love you.”