Straightjacket

I was born all wrong, no limbs.

There were times when I didn't yet think, when I simply enjoyed sliding through grass and leaves and mud and water. Warm and cold. Firm and giving way. Darkness or day, I had no enemy. To be so quiet, I thought, so invisible, what a privilege. To feel the world skin on skin.

I grew in strength and, sadly, my mind grew with me. The first time I noticed: I'm alone, they always scatter when I'm near. The first time I realised I have no voice, nothing to appease them. My sorrow when I buried them in me, their lungs still pumping, but there is no air. Not in me.

I've seen others kill. A tiger leaping from his hiding place. An eagle's majesty, striking from above. The noise they make, the fighting. The ease with which I get them is a farce.

And yet they feed, I murder. They hunt, and I, the serpent, I end lives.

I used to think that nature made me to its pride. The way the sun still warms me selflessly, that at least has never changed. The roles we get. Watch out for the silent killer in your shadow. Watch out for the creeping serpent with the black eyes. The fates we seal. Born all wrong, unlike the others. I have my enemy, now.