by Jd Field
###
Call me Emperor Batman of Byzantium, Prince Harry Potter, Martin Luther King of the World.
I decided to be born.
I heard my family telling stories of the world, blue and vast. So, like a bungee jumper from the bottom of the bounce, I jumped from my Mum. “Hello everything!”
Mum held me to the edge of the world and I gulped from it. Beyond the edge, the void stretched bright and cold and I laughed at it. I floated around Mum, then fed from her until she twitched away.
“Hey!” I thumped her in the side.
My cousin Murtaugh startled, watching me from behind the shelter of his mother’s body. Aunt Oprah turned one deep-set eye on me. “Well then, so strong.”
“So bold,” rumbled Aunt Marge.
“Peesht!” I jerked my chin at them. “Who are you to tell me who I am?”
“Well, we’re your family.”
“And now we’re keeping you safe.”
They circled Mum and me, listening out for the packs that hunted the fatty tastiness of our babies, all bacon rinds and butter. I slipped away from Mum into the coolness of the twilight, but she pushed me away from the darkness, back to the edge that filled one entire side of the world with light. I laughed at it, then at Aunt Oprah as I fed from her.
“Mercutio!” Mum slid against me. “Be careful. There are hunters, out there. You must stay with the family. We’ll look after you.”
“I’ll run away.” I chuckled. “I’ll hide.”
Mum painted me a picture of big, sleek animals. “They’re too quick. There’s nowhere to hide, save beside your family.”
I laughed, then, and through the days and months that followed. The Shire was poor, and the adults foraged most of the time, taking it in turns. Before leaving, the foraging party gulped great drafts from the edge and I skittered around them. When they departed I stayed in the glow of the edge with the other four kids and our babysitters. We fed from them, drank from the edge, and chased each other through our small circle of the world.
I scrapped with one-year-old Max, my twin in size, though six months older. I shoved him backwards.
“Mercutio, don’t,” he whimpered. “What have I done?”
He hadn’t done anything, but he annoyed me. I flicked and picked at him until he ran. Bored, I followed.
Hermione, my half-sister, brushed my side. “Leave him alone.” She showed me images of toothy ghosts waiting for him in the twilight. “He’s your cousin.” She slid against me, calming. “You don’t want him to get hurt and it’s your fault.”
I turned on Murtaugh instead. “You shouldn’t be feeding from the mothers! You’re too big.” At seven years old he was twice my size. “You’re a lazy lump.”
Murtaugh shouted and rushed, but I turned my smaller body tightly and bounced away towards the dark. From the edge Grandma Hilary called us back and Murtaugh disappeared. My habit, though, was to push at rules to see how far they’d bend. I reckoned I’d only do as Grandma said if I thought it was a good idea so I kept going. Starlight closed in and the world cooled and tightened a little harder. I had never been this far from the edge and the need to drink pulled at my lungs.
I heard adults returning from the darkness. “Mercutio!” Mum called from the distance. “What’re you doing here?”
I turned and zoomed away from her voice, towards the light. When Mum arrived I was gulping from the edge. Grandma Hilary noticed I was back and spanked me, sending me spinning.
I bared my gums. “What?”
“The packs are never far off.” She turned her long, lichen-mottled flank to me. “Look here.” Grandma Hilary stretched half as long again as Mum. Curving seams furrowed her sides. “Hunting teeth made these.”
“You should fight ’em,” I yelled.
“Ah well, I fought,” she said. “But they, well, they were many. I had a son. I fought and fought but I couldn’t save him. They rode on his back and weighed him down.” Grandma Hilary’s voice faded. “I pushed them off, they slammed him. They wouldn’t let him drink and he fell out of the world.”
“I wouldn’t give up! I’d kick ’em and bite ’em.”
Around us my family’s chatter built. They showed each other a cluster of torpedo-shaped beasts that swooped and looped but always arrowed toward us. Grandma Hilary turned to listen, then swung back to me. “Brave are you? And how old?”
“I’m six months, but bigger than-”
“Whatever. We’ll see what you’re made of.”
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“Well then.” She fixed me with a gleaming, deep set eye. “A hunting pack is coming.”