Alex wore other people's thoughts like clothes. An opinion on politics might be a coat, shielding from awkward family dinners. An opinion on government might be a hat, blocking out the rains of depression. An urge to never give up might be their shoes, something to cushion against the sharp edges of life as Alex trundled along. None of these fit of course, being other people's clothes, but sometimes there was a nice fabric of thought that would go quite nicely with someone else's thought's on life. Over time, Alex acquired quite the pretty outfit, full of exotic colours and exciting patchwork. When they went out, they were the talk of the town, sure to lighten up people's day with amazing insights and new perspectives.
But in all their years of learning, Alex never thought to grab some tools. Other people learned trades, ready to earn a living with a mental toolbox for plumbing or mechanics. Others learned debate, sharpening their tongues into courtroom weapons, ready to spar as lawyers. Some became human calculators, ready to plumb the depths of mathematics. Alex learned to look pretty, but not how to look elegant or graceful, or how to slip their tongue into the ears of kings and queens and whisper sweet nothings. They spent their life learning a beautiful patchwork of knowledge, but it was a patchwork, not full of useful things. Only fragments they knew, even as their friends moved on and found new beautiful things to admire, and families to maintain.
Of all the things Alex needed to know, they never expected that being a parent would be one of them. Others had never interested them, either romantically or carnally. But today, peeking out at a speckled blue egg right next to their aching abdomen, Alex suddenly started wishing they didn't skip their school's homemaking class.
I knew I said that this body was perfect, but giving birth without even knowing is a bit much. I'm willing to do anything if it means I'm the one controlling my fate, but diaper changing? Come on.
Still, having loyal minions was enough to excite Alex.
Let's recap where I am today: I managed to cobble together a sharpened spear in an afternoon, magically lost an eye while fighting a bird of prey, and I just gave birth in the wilderness. Why?
Alex recalled their dreams last night, of dominion and ruling. They recalled their desire for minions, and how they shaped the image of a fox into an insectine abomination. They had the nagging feeling that their idle whims had to do with their sudden parentage.
It's funny. I pegged myself as responsible. One night of passion later, and turns out a little want turns into a big mistake the next morning. Never thought it would be my first time, though.
And the mistake was quite big indeed; the egg was bigger than their head. No thin placenta covered their soon to be child, and it was dry to the touch.
With more care than they extended to their own safety, Alex gingerly picked up the egg by the bottom and turned it about. It was quite heavy, and a soft rapping against the side revealed that the outer shell was quite thick. Alex strained to examine its details, but found it unexpectedly difficult with their hampered vision.
I lacked the foresight to see that a blind eye would be quite an eye-sore.
Alex paused.
Or how awful those puns would be.
Hopefully, healing magic exists.
Unhopefully, I should be more careful.
Turning back to the matter at hand, Alex thought what to do.
I could always just smash the egg, and wipe my hands clear of the matter.
But am I willing to take a defenceless life? I've taken the life of two animals and fought a hawk, but those were different. My life or theirs. Am I willing to end this life before it even began?
Memories flashed through Alex's head.
Their parents always looked out for them, even when they did nothing but be a burden. Several of Alex's friends were kicked out at the age of eighteen, to face the streets or die in the cold. Their parents had never even threatened to do so, and always worked to assure they would never have to. Even as their mother lay dying, even as their father lay on their sickbed, they still fought for Alex.
They made certain Alex's life didn't end before they ever had a chance to soar.
And now?
I will give the mercy given to me, to my own flesh and blood.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Confident in their own decision, Alex planned for the day ahead. They were going to need more food yet still, and they possessed some power of creation barely understood. Alex decided to work on the more exciting problem first.
How does my power work? Do I need to envisage my brood to lay eggs, or is it a subconscious thing? What's the extent of my natural control over these things? Where do I lay eggs from in the first place? Should I be embarrassed I didn't notice that?
After ten minutes determining that no, embarrassment was not deserved for failing this particular perception check, Alex then spent thirty seconds determining that they most likely passed their eggs the same way they might expel waste, that their ovipositor was purely inside them much as a kidney might be, that they possessed some conscious level of control over their egg-laying, and that's all that will be said on the matter.
Alex's interesting problems taken care of, they turned to the now-constant problem of food gathering. Once again, their store of food was rapidly declining, with the threat of starvation shadowing their every action.
Sighing, Alex set to work feeding themselves yet again.
Alex stuck to getting blue fruits once again (and decided to call them bloots, on account of being blue fruits), checking thrice for Jerkilla's before daring to approach any given bush and scarfing down the delicacies. At the fifth bush of the day, Alex was overcome with an overwhelming urge to carry several bloots back to their little hill, right this instant.
Nearly tripping over their own two feet, Alex charged back to their hideout.
I hope I'm not just panicking over noth-
ITS HATCHING!
Eggs are built to break. If they break too early, their charge pours out an underdeveloped, bloody mess. If they don't break, the children they're supposed to protect doesn't get to live at all. If someone else crushes them up, eager for the life inside to blossom, then they'll find that their precious flower wilted from the inside.
Today, a flower bloomed. A brown stem emerged from a speckled egg, covered in a thin sheen of yellow-green blood. It chirruped with little mandibles like a thousand cicadas singing through an everlasting night. Its body was rough and mottled and pliable, as its quadrafold mouth searched for food and warmth. A dozen little legs lined their lower body, stretching and pitter-pattering against the open air.
“It’s beautiful!” Alex lied to themselves. Alex actually found their bug quite hideous, but it was not an ugliness that provoked disgust. To Alex, it was the ugliness of a newly planted garden, covered in manure and worm filled dirt not yet bloomed into it’s fullness of life. It was the ugliness of a family pet come after years of absence, still haggard from mud and disease. To Alex, this was the ugliness that came with the promise of a beautiful future.
With their face to the ground and hands outstretched, Alex waited for their young to come forward.
Come forth little one! Be guided into my hands! Thought Alex.
And so they felt a little wriggle, both in their hands and in their mind where a new connection had formed.
Alex was looking at the scene before them from two perspectives now. In one they saw their spawn inching towards them from the egg, then falling down facefirst. In another perspective, they saw themselves reaching out before their world became a mess of green mashed up against their eyes, body wriggling all the while. Their elongated body pulsed as their legs pumped the air.
“What would be a good name for you, little one?”
Wormy seems a bit on the nose. Alex the second seems a bit arrogant. Come on, think of a good name for a sweet little creature…
“Dextrose! You’re just as sweet as sugar, but just a bit different in appearance.”
Alex reached out their hands, and felt their arms curling around themselves in Dextrose’s body.
Trippy.
Alex held out a bloot to their young, and two sets of red eyes looked greedily at their new meal.
Eat, and be merry!
Dextrose’s mouth unfolded, and it began tearing into the bloot which was as large as its head, with teeth lining every corner of its mouth.
“You’re a bit messy, aren’t you fella?” Alex cooed, fawning over their little Dextrose.
For a moment, Alex was happy. Here was new life, and within this life lay responsibilities and goals. Though they were loathe to admit it, Alex looked forward to a set of binding routines, of things to do every day after their unscripted time in the wilderness.
I think I can endure tomorrow with you by my side, Dextrose.
Alex could have sworn Dextrose looked at them and chittered in response, that Dextrose understood what they were saying. Maybe It was just Alex getting Dextrose to respond subconsciously. Whichever it was, they were happy.
Nothing can ruin this moment. Thought Alex.
The feeling of an eagle swooping against their skull, claws outstretched, set out to prove them wrong.
In an instant, Alex was tumbling down the hill and Dextrose was clutched in the air. Alex could see themselves through Dextrose’s eyes, before they became just a rapidly disappearing blur on the infinite seeming ground.
AARGH! That bastard eagle! I’d grind you in a pulp if I could reach you!
But Alex couldn’t. They had just gotten up, and already they had to squint to see the eagle.
Dextrose!
In a panic, Alex focused their entire mind on Dextrose, and for several precious moments, could feel their terror and see through their eyes.
“I’ll save you, Dextrose! Even if it’s the last thing I do!
With that, said, Alex went to gather their spears and formulate a plan.