by Ai Jiang
We keep eating, but the hunger remains. But that’s what they want—that’s what we were created for.
With needles they prod us, take our blood, feed us, then drain us of the excess antibodies, organs, we create, ones they don’t have. And when they’re done, they toss us. Because we don’t speak, so we don’t matter. And when we do speak, they still don’t listen. It is more convenient for them to believe we are not like them, even though we look the same.
They whisper, “They’re not human,” trying to convince themselves, denying that they’re the real monsters.
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Ai Jiang is a Chinese-Canadian writer, an immigrant from Fujian, and an active member of HWA. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in F&SF, The Dark, PseudoPod, Prairie Fire, Hobart Pulp, The Masters Review—among others. Find her on Twitter (@AiJiang_) and online (http://aijiang.ca).
