Kenta
Kenta didn’t know how a Kaminoke was supposed to act.
> Aren’t you Hungry?
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The crunch of bones, the sweet of marrow, having something to chew on between meals. This was the definition of good.
He was Hungry.
He was always Hungry. There was always something tasty in the Palace. This was also good.
He looked from the Palace window at the world below. There were many tasty things in the world below. It was never long before what he saw there came into the Palace. This was very good, because there were always new flavors to find.
Today the tasty things were pointing and screaming. That was different, but good. There were always new flavors to find.
One of the tasty things was inside the Palace now, screaming and running. Very good. He approached faster than it could run and reached out with his sensilla to grab and pull the tasty thing into his Maw.
A swath of the Palace wall slashed, severing the sensilla he’d used to entangle the tasty thing. “This is not for eating,” Guardian Voice said. “Remember, we don’t eat these.”
He hissed. Not good.
He’d tasted the tasty thing with his sensilla, and it didn’t taste much better or worse than any other tasty thing. Guardian Voice made no sense.
Another patch of Palace wall parted to thrust a nasty rock on a string at him. After he took the nasty rock into himself, the tasty thing’s screaming became words. Not that he’d listen to what a tasty thing had to say.
“You will teach him,” Guardian Voice told the tasty thing, which argued back but soon surrendered. Guardian Voice was never wrong. To argue back was the definition of foolishness.
Not good. Not tasty.
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Kenta ran and cried. He was starving enough to chew stone. His soul was a desolate gloom. His anger was reckless and stupid.
No one had taught him how to be a Kaminoke, but he’d learned how to be a gentleman.
> So Hungry
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“No,” the gentleman said. He pointed to the dog in the picture book the dignified man held between them.
“Tasty.”
“No.”
He pointed to the cat.
“Tasty.”
“No.”
He pointed to the children playing.
“Tasty.”
“No!”
The man shoved the book forward, and his Maw snapped the book from retreating hands.
They moved on to table manners.
“No, no, no!” the gentleman shouted.
He’d eaten the silverware again. There’d been a memory of flavor on the tines.
The fastidious man stomped his foot until a toe slipped through the hole in his shoe. His three-piece suit was tattered and soiled. His tie had been bitten in half moons ago when Guardian Voice barely separated them in time.
Throwing his cracked glasses in frustration, the silver-haired man shouted at the ceiling. “You can’t learn manners if you eat the napkins and plates before I can set the table! I give up!”
The Palace floor opened under the gentleman, who then disappeared.
He never saw the man again.
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Kenta cried and ran. He felt sick. His Maw was nauseous, which never happened.
No one had taught him how to be a good person, but he’d learned how to treat a lady.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
> Wouldn’t you kill for a bite?
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He hissed and snapped at the flabby woman covered in sweat with a fake smile plastered on while she danced with a strand of his sensilla in each hand. He knew he’d be smacked down if he tried to bite the lady, but he wanted her and Guardian Voice to know he didn’t like this.
This one was smarter than the others. The lady didn’t argue with Guardian Voice.
“That’s enough dancing for today.” She let go. “The gentleman bows, and the lady curtsies.” She curtsied.
He growled.
The flabby lady lasted the longest, but one day there was a new tasty thing giving lessons and he never saw her again. He never stopped trying to eat his tutors.
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Kenta tripped and landed on his hands. He spilled his guts on the ground, where tears mingled with bits of stew and bile.
No one had taught him how to love, but he’d learned on his own.
> Don’t you miss her?
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He’d been wandering the Palace looking for something tasty when he heard the crying.
Following the sound through the many branches and corridors was simple. Counting the microseconds between when the soundwaves reached opposite sides of his spread sensilla allowed him to pinpoint the precise direction. He pursued the source under arched vaults and past endless lancet windows.
There was fighting outside.
Something four-legged shot quills at the Palace, including the windows he passed. Strands of hair separated themselves from the Palace walls to catch the projectiles before they harmed him. Guardian Voice would be angry at his foolishness. He may have to wait a while for more tasty things.
Best to grab something tasty while he had the chance.
In a vast, dark chamber, far from windows, the crying came from a dais across the floor. As he approached, he saw waving sensilla rising from a cradle to trace every surface in range. Inside the cradle lay something pink and squishy and wriggling.
A baby.
His sensilla investigated. Their sensilla entangled, but his were longer and stronger. Sensilla tasted like hair. Uninteresting.
His strands touched the baby’s skin. Delicious. He’d never tasted anything so plump and hot and fresh.
His sensilla lifted the baby from the cradle. The crying intensified.
The baby’s eyes opened, and the crying stopped. Huge eyes met Kenta’s. The pupils were writhing masses of black inside the white sclera, matching a mirror recollection.
Those eyes held no fear. They traced the shape of his form, the glistening saliva of his Maw, and shining points of his teeth with curiosity.
Kenta reached out with his human hands. He stuck a finger in the baby’s mouth and the child gummed and sucked at him.
“You’re Hungry too.”
He took the baby in his cold hands and pressed the child to the cold bare skin of his chest. The crying resumed louder than ever. The baby was hot, so she felt cold.
“You’re cold too.”
Kenta hadn’t known he was cold until now. It was strange. He imagined wearing the gentleman’s clothes and they appeared on him. He tucked the girl into his jacket to keep her warm.
He attempted to cradle the girl’s head and her Maw snapped at him.
“No!” He slapped at her sensilla with his own. “That’s not how a lady behaves! I’ll get you something tasty, I promise.”
Kenta left the chamber.
“You left them unattended?” Other Voice exclaimed.
“It is of no consequence,” Guardian Voice said. “It appears the human tutoring was more effective than we first thought. Harumi is unharmed.”
He came upon a pig as he rounded the corner. “Look, Harumi, something tasty.” Kenta connected his sensilla to the animal’s nervous system, deadened its pain sensors, and stopped its heart. Harumi’s sensilla extended towards the carcass, but he restrained her. “A lady shouldn’t dirty her hands with such things. Allow elder brother to serve you some choice pieces.”
Kenta butchered the pig hastily, if not efficiently. Practice would improve his work. Grabbing the cuts of meat and bone with his sensilla, he delicately fed Harumi first and then himself.
“It’s unfortunate we don’t have firewood. Cooked food is supposed to taste better.” He didn’t know firsthand; he’d never felt the need to restrain his Hunger that long.
“And Kenta is sharing,” Other Voice observed. “If the two of them aren’t going to eat each other, then our obligations are fulfilled. One for me. One for you.”
“I agree,” Guardian Voice said. “Your presence is no longer required.”
Kenta never heard Other Voice again.
It wasn’t long before he never heard Guardian Voice again.
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An aching pain pierced to his core. His Maw drooled and spat globs of sick.
No one had taught him how to be a brother, but he’d had to learn.
> How can you live without her?
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“Big brother,” Harumi asked, her hand in his. “Why did mommy and daddy leave us?”
He looked down at his little sister, who did an excellent job of hiding her Maw as was polite and befitting of a lady. The lamb was almost done. He’d seared the outside and was rotating the piece of meat near the fire until it reached an internal temperature of 47.8°C, Harumi’s preference.
“You’re old enough now.” Kenta nodded to himself for show and spoke in his most somber tone. “They’re fighting for the honor of the Kaminoke. Our parents are on a secret mission.”
“Really?” she exclaimed with a smile.
“Yes and keep your voice down. They wanted to stay with us, but they were begged to go.”
“I thought Kaminoke never begged?”
“Never for their own life,” Kenta clarified. “But the purpose of this mission is to save our entire race. Millions of lives are on their shoulders. They’d have left us with someone they could trust, except their enemies would know to look for us there. Our responsibility as Kaminoke is to protect ourselves without endangering friends and allies.”
“Wow!” Harumi whispered her next question. “How long before they come back?”
“They will return when our people are safe, and their duty is fulfilled. Remember, we have to be strong until then.”
She nodded wearily. “‘Be kind as mother and honorable as father,’ I know.”
“Be proud of your heritage,” Kenta instructed as he pulled the meat from where he’d let it rest after cooking and offered Harumi her portion.
They ate using their human mouths first, to practice manners. When Kenta felt they’d satisfied decorum, he permitted them to feed their Maws.
His human eyes never would have spotted it. Kenta’s sensilla saw all around them, above and below. When a passing cockroach jerked unnaturally to a stop and turned antenna towards them, he knew they’d been found.
Kenta’s sensilla flared, a single filament spearing the cockroach to kill it, and he swept up Harumi along with all evidence of their camp. He bared his Maw and launched at the nearest wall. Kenta bit through wood and plaster and flew through the hole carrying what few things he cared about in the universe.
In the hallway, before he found the stairs, their surroundings erupted with movement. From out of corners and crevices and holes in the ceiling came roaches and termites and fleas and flies and other bugs he couldn’t name in the thousands.
The biomass surged with a singular intelligence to form a human man with their interlocked bodies. “What are two young kids doing here by themselves?”
A single grasshopper perched on the man’s hand and chirped.
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“The Kaminoke never lie.”
Kenta knew better than anyone that was bullcrap.