Warmth. Darkness. Emptiness in the stomach.
Discomfort. Mouth open, the sound from somewhere inside. Wailing.
Kicking legs. Feeling of need intensifying, growing, screaming.
Then in the darkness: "Sammy. You're my favourite, Sammy."
The sound of my name— I know it: the tone not the words. Frozen in curiousity. The abrupt cease of sound from somewhere inside.
Blurry face. Smell of strangeness. Yellow eyes closing in.
The hiss of breath so close. So close.
Wetness, liquid. Milk of the moment fills the emptiness deep in the stomach. No more aching.
Voices loud, hurting ears. Mother. Mother! Wailing.