I know only of survival. I don’t know who I am; I don’t know what I am, or why I exist, save for the fulfillment of a set of instincts and impulses that I do not consciously control.
The vessel in which I am encased hungers, insatiably. For what, I do not know. But the craving is unbearable.
The universe is small; black. I’ve explored all of it. I’ve tried kicking my way beyond its boundaries, but to no avail. I’m trapped. Just it and I.
You see, I share the universe with another; one who is like me. It hungers as well, but neither one of us ever feels satiated.
If there was only one of us, though…
I touch it. It’s soft; succulent. I wish to absorb it, but it will resist.
Perhaps if I take its nourishment tube for myself, the hunger will finally cease.
It takes me a long time to work the tube loose, and there is much struggle, as was expected, but I win. I am the strongest.
Its flailing and kicks slow to nothing, and it ceases to move even as the universe begins to quake.
What belonged to it is now mine. It is mine. I wrap my body around it and begin to feed.