Someone You Can Build a Nest In

by John Wiswell

It was the older families that clutched most of the wealth, even though it was harvested by the laborers. What the laborers got out of it that kept them from eating the rich, Shesheshen didn’t understand. She was a mere monster.

This revelry was a kind of fear, for hatred was the fear people let themselves enjoy.

This was the same mistake so many humans made: believing someone would leap over trauma when it hurt them badly enough. That wasn’t how it worked, and the monster knew it. All Shesheshen could do for Homily was be patient with her, and make space for her, and eventually, one day behind her back, eat her mother.

“I do not know what you call it. The thing that is not flesh or bone or organs. In the panic, I needed to make sure the greater thing was safe. The demonic laughs you make at things that are not jokes. The way you ask to touch me without words. The pleasure I get from riding next to you. The talking that I mind less than talking to others. The willingness to be harmed myself before letting you be harmed. You feeding me soup by the spoonful because I cannot raise a hand. What do you call that thing that I had to save? I had to save it. I had to save us. You are my safety.”

“Every day was a brutal mystery, which we got through together. We learned about each other. The trick was realizing we both wanted the same thing. The thing that was worth going through all this for. That’s what brought us together.”

“What was it? What did you both want so badly?” Homily answered, “You.”