Your Turn

You can see him in your dreams. The man turned your sleepy little mountain town upside-down, and everyone's been abuzz since he arrived. Whenever you think about him, the warm glow of contentment suffuses you (why?) - this is the type of person you dream of meeting, you dream of being. What is he doing in a nowhere place like this?

It doesn't matter, you tell yourself (yes, it does). Why look a gift horse in the mouth? The man's done so much for the community, brought you all together... now that you think of it, you can't really think of what, exactly, he's done. But the fact that the community's better than ever can't be denied, and who can grudge him a few neighbors for that?

Come to that, you realize with a tinge of excitement, it's going to be your turn soon. You begin the walk to his house (nest?), even though you know you're early. You can hear Ms. Andrews, that girl from down the street, crying inside. Silly girl always was overemotional. "Thank you, thank yo—" you can hear her say before abruptly cutting off. Her turn, now my turn, you think with a smile on your face as you rap on the door.

After a long moment, the door swings open and the man (men have faces, what could this be?) opens the door. He gestures you inside, and you're struck at first by the odor of his house (nest) before he shuffles you over to one of the chairs. Ms. Andrews is sleeping (dead) in a nearby chair, poor girl must have tired herself out.

"Is it my turn yet?" you croak. It hurts to speak, and you realize you haven't spoken since you met this man.

The man (thing) nods wordlessly, and you realize you've never heard his (its) voice. Somehow, that doesn't matter. You smile, and despite yourself, you can't help but shed a tear of gratitude.

"Thank you," you say in that same rough voice, as he (it) leans closer to you.

You, too, will be host to his eggs.

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