Matei Dimonu is participating in the International Literary Creation Competition, 7th Edition, from Bucharest, Romania and is 24 years old. We thank him for his participation and wish him success.

Down through the ages, the Basilisk (also known as the Cockatrice) grows increasingly ugly and horrendous until today it is forgotten.

~ Jorge Luis Borges

A child

dies

in this one

It was a cold, unfortunate morning. I remember slithering down the grey jungle’s freezing ground and the hunger I felt – how utterly sinful it felt to be hungry and cold at the same time – I am verily, extremely highly-sensitive to these kinds of things, you know? So there I was, in the grand scheme of things, attempting to make a difference to my belly, on my way to moving things further from their origin, perhaps lower into my stomach, down the throat, deeper towards the intestines, but that was not for me to know, given how little I knew about anatomy before that, as I was saying, I was bound for changing the scenery, looking around the greenery and, for the lack of any better word, deeper into the buffet of the world. But, as you may have noticed, we’re living the most peculiar of days, days in which my love for not being hungry is being overlooked by the medium and the medium told me that I shall remain hungry for a while, but screw that bitch, I will eat, anyway, we are living strange times, as I said before, the kind of time period in which food is hard to come by, especially if you’re a member of the public like us, not saying that we’re in any way alike, but you never can tell, we may be brothers, bound by hunger, separated by anger, but let me tell you something concrete: a member-less lizard as myself has to eat, to be resourceful, at least try not to be wasteful, means to be fed before going to bed. That’s why I haven’t slept in a while. A bone is only a bone to the uninitiated, and believe me, honeys, I am initiated, so initiated, in fact, I want to let you in on a little secret: I have eaten before, I know it doesn’t show, at least now, but I truly have eaten before that unspeakable, unreasonable, unfathomable day in which the undone became done, but that’s not what I wanted to get to, the feed is my concern, the escaping is the interest of what I am feeding on, and the listening is the fate you are left with, this is how it has always been in nature, and now you can take part in this wonderful exercise of the circle of life, or the encirclement of life, as I like to call it, and the bone, the bone we’ve already talked about how it is a pretty resourceful one, and I know it because I was there when I had to feed off of it before arriving to the undone that became done, so it goes even without saying that even though I was fed by chewing on the bone, I was still struggling with finding something to consume, it could have been a big fat rat or a thin alley cat, I wouldn’t have cared for the world, I could’ve eaten a mat, if it was eatable, but I had nothing else but an expectation to cling on to and-and… what was I… as I was telling you, the choices are reserved to those more fortunate than myself, and as it happened that day, my predisposition to hope was in the lowest it had ever been up until then and as it has had been since, alas, the undone which was done: you’ve read the title, haven’t you? Finally, somebody became less fortunate than myself and I was all ready for it.

Truth be told, I really don’t need to tell you anything, it was spoken all over the place, nobody heard about the tragedy, nor spoke about the tragedy, but everyone knew it, just like when Christmas is around the corner, but this time it’s not about giving, but losing, and that’s how I have been described ever since, the one that brings losing about, and I think that’s quite reductive, isn’t it? I’m a king, after all, at least I think I am… was… no, I am, I don’t have that good of a memory, stretching from one place to another, getting longer and longer, leaving my body behind as if my skin was shedding but all I ever achieved with my excruciating size is more hunger to the point of achieving the unachievable, let’s get around to that technicality and say that my royal-ness is less of a concern for my memory, but being a king doesn’t ever stop, even in forgetfulness of the origin of said crown one is forced to wear, just like me being a child-killer doesn’t stop when you forget about it, but that’s not really what I was talking about, as I was saying, I should be respected as my own origin is demanding you to respect me, I have left nothing but not a single thing behind me, so it’s only right for thee shall respect We, and this I’ve said.

I think I remember more than I used to now, knowledge is a pretty sick thing, you know, I remember more that day, I also remember how it was over in a second, like lightning, so was my dining, and I forgot again… I keep doing that, don’t I? It’s something about being at peace with yourself, it makes you forget how you killed a child… yes, I remember, over in a minute, they didn’t even check for a pulse, it was useless, or perhaps forgotten, but nevertheless, not done, as opposed to the deed which was done, the thing is the child’s gone, never to be seen by no one, I was one once, at one time I used to mean something, I was the king of reptiles, if you would have seen me alive, you wouldn’t have gotten a chance to see me a second time, and if I were dead you would’ve thought it otherwise, yet here I am, writing a letter of apology, or am I? Do I really care? Care, care, what do I care? I was born with no parents, yet here I am, mattering – I really am sorry for your loss, but can the done be undone? Can you change the way in which the world works? stumbling upon the greatest denominator of existence comes with its prices and you may have already guessed them, you, insufferable tick, crying makes you tick as it makes me sick… speaking of tick, not even the tongue-games can hide how inconvenient it all was, looking for food, I keep telling myself, but is it so? Arriving back to where I began, and it’s your duty to tell my story in such a way I could hear it again, does it make any sense? A king to kill a child? Who are we fooling here, it was not my intention, neither my purpose, but I did. She screamed, or maybe she didn’t and it was all over. I didn’t check for her pulse, I never liked the fuss, even with the whole sham of being a death bringer, imagine actually looking over at your own handy work and realizing you’re not yet done, I would hate to think of myself as sloppy, but everything being said, I had to look, but this is when disappointment hit me like I hit her (roughly thirty kilometers an hour above the speed limit); no, disappointment is not the word, disappointment is when you realize something that hasn’t met the expectations, I was rather terrified, as I when wrapped my body around her feeble neck, the skin of it getting colder and colder, such a fine piece of cloth beneath her limp head, I hoped I would be experiencing the enlightenment treatment, or something, I was expecting that at least one of my many heads could get converted to seeing the light, but the hunger only went on, the failure that I am, and as it did, I only saw my own pathetic face in its … her lifeless eyes, the last glimmer of life I was swiping clean with my greed was what I got instead of wisdom, that’s the deed that cannot be undone. I remember making a difference, I really do, and how hurtful it is just to remember. I was the grand scheme of things, a king.

After seeing my reflection in the two poorly-lit orbs, as her warmth was fading, I stood there with one thing left: the sinful cold. It was a cold, unfortunate morning.