My fingers curled inwards like a cat’s paw, digging nails into my palms; my toes tried curling under in a similar manner, as though my feet were turning into bird claws; my head was thrust back; whatever was overtaking me didn’t need my head around to think. My jaws clenched: it was not that mouth that wished to be fed, despite the hungry grunts that escaped from it.

It wanted to be fed. Didn’t it have all the ingredients it needed? Egg, yeast, Jesus’ bread, my blood that I could feel pounding down there. How could it ask for my husband’s meat if I had no husband? It didn’t care what I said or thought, it didn’t care one bit about me. It was a composite monster, drooling at the mouth, beckoning me for my hand. One cannot imagine my fear and abhorrence when I witnessed my hand disobey me and descend towards it. My poor hand was going to be bitten right off! I just knew it! Or even worse, it was going to be sucked up into it, or merge with it, and I wouldn’t be able to get it away! How would I explain such a thing to my mother?!

I despairingly tried to fool the uncouth, salivating creature by touching it with a lint brush that was in the drawer next to me, in lieu of my hand. It moved! To my amazement, it accepted it, and gave the lint brush little kisses. It was almost cute, and yet it was not. It was simply as touching as any weakling is when in need of nourishment. It had no teeth as of yet; only the soft lips of an innocent baby that puts everything and anything in its mouth. I must not let the innocent baby parallels fool me, I warned myself. The hunger spells of babies are by far the most tyrannical.

I closed my eyes. The pleasure increased until it could increase no further. My arm dropped limply, anchoring me back to reality, and the lint brush fell to the floor. I was freed of the curse, I was rid of it.

Before returning to the dinner table, I ventured nervously to the medicine cabinet mirror, the model with three doors one can adjust to see oneself at every possible angle into eternity. I expected to see sparks in my eyes, two horns sprung out of my head, perhaps even a fluffy tail. I saw no bloodcurdling transformation, no horrific signs of catastrophe, only that old familiar me.

I washed my hands with hot water and soap. I had trouble looking my mother, Ursula, and Cecilia in the face, so I concentrated on the meat left on my plate, cold and stiff like me. That’s when a lump began to form in my throat. I asked for more milk, but it didn’t help it go down. My mother treated my embarrassment with compassion. She promised to make me rice the next day.