Sexual Cannibalism

Sexual Cannibalism








Alice lets out a sigh of relief. Seventy-four children surround her in a rough radius, some still wet with natal slime. Not a bad result. Below her, they scatter excitedly over another and around the plateau that had been her nest and mating grounds for weeks. Nearby, long shadows are cast from the bones of her mate across the dying grass, thin elongations that never seem to die. His form serves as a reminder of how treacherous this family unit can be. Above them, thick clouds shuffle slowly and ominously.

The plateau provides a great vantage point, especially the single tree that stands like a watchtower, overlooking the endless plains that spread out below them in all directions like great smears of land. From here Alice can ensure that her children are safe from any predators having caught the scent of their young flesh. Already, the twisted and half-devoured forms of two wolves lie amongst the laughing children, now a source of both food and entertainment. Alice’s eyebrows knit into a frown as she catches sight of a particularly vicious-looking bone protruding from the cadaver.

“Jason! Ian! Stop playing with that! You’ll get hurt!”

She stretches her back, lets out a yawn. It had been a long day, and a hot one at that. The need to rest is overcoming her now, the priority to watch over her children diminishing with each minute. The sooner she goes to sleep, the sooner she can get back to peak efficiency. At most, she would only lose a handful of children during the night. Chances were though, they would all make it.

Alice curls up and is lost to sleep within moments.

The next day the vast sky is clear aside from a few streaks of coral. Alice awakens feeling refreshed and a little hungry. She scans over her children, some of which have already awoken, others still pulsing with nocturnal breaths. Of the faces she remembers, none seem to be missing. If any of her children had been taken in the night, it was none she would miss. Scanning over her brood again, Alice sees the still form of a rabbit, caught and killed by her children at some point during her slumber. She feels a sense of pride at seeing its mangled body, recalling a time long ago when she and her brothers and sisters had done the same thing.

The still form of the rabbit evokes memories of her mate, the father of all her children. She gazes at his lifeless form and recalls the mating ritual that had produced this great family she now boasts. He had been an effective lover, and had willingly allowed her to feed on him post-coitus. This was to ensure her survival for a while, to provide her with enough nutrition while she went through the egg-laying process. It wasn’t as though he would do any good once the mating was over anyway; she was far stronger than he was and somewhat larger too. Still, she did feel a little lonely now that he was gone. Her own feelings, however, were no reason to jeopardise what could be her only chance at raising a family.

Later, strong twangs of hunger begin to stab at her stomach again. The desire to protect her children is waved away once more, replaced by the need to eat. She scans over the carpet of her brood, most of which are still awake by now. She kicks a small gathering of bones aside as she approaches them. They clatter like firewood. One of the young, Jack, stares dolefully across the plains below the plateau. There is an air vacancy around the child, a sign of a possible ineptitude. Without further thought, Alice takes him in her hands and hoists him up to her face. With an unprecedented appetite, she devours him.

It is now apparent that some of the young have grown faster than the others. Michael and Robyn have become by far the largest of the group. Already they show signs of intelligence and strength. These are the two Alice is most proud of, the two she spends the most time watching with a smile spread over her face. The two that almost guarantee her legacy.

With the sun caressing her naked skin, Alice leaves her children for a while to go hunting. The larger children are now getting to the stage where they are able to defend themselves against smaller predators. She hopes that if anything hungry comes across her children it will be brought down before causing too much damage to her family. Even if it is too strong for her children to handle, the creature will surely go for the weaker ones and leave the more valuable children alone. Pushing the worry from her mind she heads into the plains, determined not to waste any time.

It doesn’t take her long to emerge with the carcass of a zebra, its head broken in under a heavy blow from a rock. Hauling it from her shoulder and onto the ground, Alice’s children descend upon it ravenously.

Several of her young stay put, victims of the other children’s hunger, their exposed bones serving as reminders that this family unit is not the most collaborative. The culprits are stained with crimson, the evidence of their cannibalism overwhelming, but Alice feels only pride for their innovation. As she watches her children feed, she sees that several of them are left out despite their best attempts, remaining hungry by the time the zebra has been stripped of its flesh and muscle. It is a certainty that these weaker children will not survive, their stronger siblings leaving no room for stragglers. It is natural selection at its cruellest, but also at its most effectiveness.

Thick clouds rush over the once-clear sky, dousing the bright plains with a morose coat. Rain begins to pour, a freezing torrent and somewhat of a threat. Alice leads her children to the great tree that doubles as a watchtower. The children - some fifty of them left now - swarm under it. Many are not able to get under this makeshift shelter on account of their more powerful brothers and sisters – the space limited for those who can fight for it - and as a result end up drenched. A passing predator of some kind, undetectable under the curtain of rain, takes at least one child without Alice noticing. Would this have happened before, or are Alice’s senses becoming blunter? Age was already taking hold of her, she knew that. But to what extent?

Soon the rain dies down to a slight drizzle. The family emerges trembling, waiting for the sun to reappear and dry them off. Instead the wind mercilessly lashes at them, relentless attacks carrying with them stinging bouts of rain. Four children die of hypothermia over the next day. Another is eaten by a group of her brothers. Alice feels only admiration for the children that survive, by their unique and merciless techniques and strategies, by the nostalgia that their actions conjure up.

By the end of the week there are twenty children left, among them Michael and Robyn. Alice remembers the same rapid decrease in her own siblings back in her youth, the way their numbers just seemed to drain like a handful of water, the way their faces disappeared even from memory. She remembers the selfishness that enabled her to survive, the discontent for the weaker of her brothers and sisters. She remembers killing two girls and a boy - and can still feel their blood on her chin. She remembers the proud look from her mother that spurred her to go on, that energised her and gave her new strength. By the time Alice’s own brothers and sisters were ready to part from their mother, there were but twelve of them left.

It now takes two zebras to feed her children, despite there being a sharp decrease in her family’s numbers. Each time Alice kills a zebra with her hands, it seemed to take a few more blows than usual, their deaths becoming more painful and sloppy each time. But still, at least now some of her children were strong enough to assist her on her hunts. Robyn in particular was becoming rather strong, and Michael had become as large as any male Alice had ever seen. He would no doubt create a great family like Alice’s own before his death.

Hunting is becoming more tiring. Each kill takes more energy than the previous one, each long haul back seems to stretch further and further away with every step. Every sleep seems to last a little longer than the last; every morning seems like a few more extra pounds have been added to her body. But still, Alice is determined to carry on, to give her children as much of a head start as they need before settling down with their own families.

The Winter is becoming relentless, as though the seasons are determined to erase Alice’s family. She refuses to allow this, fights it with everything she has. A thousand zebras must have dropped dead, a thousand more will do as long as her skills permit.

It is during a particularly vicious hunt that Alice feels her body drop, her eyes sag. Already, Robyn and Michael and a few others have left the family and headed on their separate ways, their own legacies just beginning. Only four children remain. They watch their mother curiously as she attempts to stand up. With shaking legs, Alice manages to lift herself slightly, before collapsing onto the dusty floor. Tired fingers rake the ground, her final movement. The sound of zebra hooves disappear into the distance.

“Mum?”

Her children continue to watch, uncertain of the meaning of this event. She gazes back at him with sightless, dry eyes. A son, a curious-looking boy by the name of Jed, wanders over and sniffs her body. Hungry and without remorse, he takes a bite of her still-warm flesh. The rest of his siblings watch for while.

Then, one by one, they join in. Alice, after death, is still keeping her family alive, the same way she had done to her own mother. If she were alive to witness this ritual, Alice would have been so proud of her children.

As Alice’s children finish off their mother, they realise that it is now down to them to feed themselves. But not now; their stomachs are full – satisfied. The sun is beginning to set, the sky a vast womb. The children curl up together, content for the moment, but aware that when they awaken their lives will have gotten much more difficult. Already, the weaker of the four has been identified, his body an emergency meal if the hunt becomes too taxing.









1,789 words.