Suckle

Kyle woke to the nightmare that was his new reality. Sun streamed into the room sending harsh shadows through the bars of his crib. He lay in a ball, clutching himself, hungry beyond hunger. If he had indeed been an infant he’d be bawling his head off. She walked into the room, bent over the crib. Good morning, little one. She said that every morning, though he had no idea what it meant. While his own language was full of harsh sounds, hers was soft, almost song-like. He couldn’t tell where one word ended and another began. ...

Johnnie had been excited by rubber ever since he could remember. He had been raised by a mother that kept him in rubber pants and rubber sheets when he was an infant. He had learned to welcome the warm slippery feel of rubber as a comfort when sleeping in his crib. His mother also had draped a rubber sheet over her shoulder and lap to protect her clothes while nursing him, and his infant mind soon learned that the feel of rubber was the satisfaction of his need for love and nourishment. ...