FICTION | SELF-REFLECTION | EVOLUTION
A Creature with Teeth
The creature didn’t have teeth, before.
That was one of the things the person liked about it. It made a sweet purring sound and it had huge, soft ears, and it was easy to catch and cuddle.
It used to live with its family in the forest, and it listened to the wind and the sun and it had a pretty good sense of how to snuffle for food and how to make itself a cozy burrow.
Then, the person fed it. Just a bit. Just once, to start.
It liked being fed, though. Liked it a lot. And at first, it remembered to keep snuffling for itself, but slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, it began to rely on the food and the cuddles. It moved to a new burrow, to be closer to the person who fed it. Its huge, soft ears began to listen to the person, more than the wind and the sun.
You’re so pretty. You’re so sweet. You’re smart and impressive. I love you.
For a while, the creature still remembered how to snuffle for itself. For a while, it believed the one who fed it was happy too — that it was enough to purr and be soft, to cuddle and to listen.
Then, one day, the person didn’t feed the creature. Maybe the person forgot. Maybe the person didn’t have enough food to share. Maybe the person was tired of caring for the creature. Maybe the person wanted something other than soft ears and purring.
The creature grew hungry. It felt angry and sad and scared. Did it still remember how to snuffle, if the person didn’t feed it?
You’re not trying hard enough. You don’t know what you want. You’re lazy and dull and gullible.
The creature heard this, and its mouth began to ache. It squeaked, to get the person’s attention. The person didn’t like the squeaking.
Purr more. Listen more. Your squeaking doesn’t make sense to me.
The person grew angry and changed the creature’s burrow, and the creature was uncomfortable. How could it trust the person anymore? Panicked, it squeaked louder.
Any creature who squeaks at me, isn’t safe with me, the person warned.
The creature trembled and didn’t make a peep. Its teeth poked through its gums. When it couldn’t keep the squeak in, it ran back to its forest and hid from the person.
Purr, the person shouted into the forest. All you have to do, to stay with me, is stop squeaking and purr for me any time I want.
The creature heard the person and remembered being safe and loved and cuddled. Maybe it could stop squeaking. Maybe it could purr more. The creature knew it could adapt. It could compromise.
It started to walk back towards the person, but — ouch! Its new teeth poked into its gums.
The creature remembered how hungry it was. The person had been demanding purrs, but still neglecting to feed the creature.
Now, there are several ways this story could end.
The creature could return. It might hope the selfless act of hiding its teeth will make the person realize that the creature has been working very hard to stay soft and keep purring, even when the person says things that make its ears hurt. However, I suspect that creature is foolish.
It is more likely that no matter what the creature does, the person will refuse to feed it, so the creature will starve to death. Many other creatures have died this way — starved and purring. This particular creature has no interest in dying that way.
The creature considers devouring the person instead. It sometimes finds itself running its tongue along its bleeding teeth and thinking it might be nice to bite the person who didn’t feed it. But no.
The creature won’t choose any of these endings (if they are, in fact ‘endings’). This creature is smart enough to recognize it can’t meet the person’s expectations, and the person can’t love it the way it wants to be loved, at this time.
The creature will take its hunger and its teeth and its huge, soft ears and go back to snuffling for its own food in the forest, listening to the wind and sun, nestling into a cozy burrow. It might be bad at creaturing on its own for a while, but it will get better.
It has teeth now, after all.
Thank you for reading! This response to May More’s Evolution prompt in the Microcosm publication. For more fantastic writing, check out Maisie Archer’s story “Double.”
