"I can see it in his eyes, how he wants me to be something human." -Zachary Schomburg, from From the Fjords

Fitting

I walked up to the dark cave in my backyard, like I do every day after work, and just stood there, listening. The cave made different sounds every day. Sometimes it even played tunes, little jingles, and they sounded perfect to sell any sort of meaningless product to me. When it gets dark, the cave emits a faint glow, a sort of pleasant luminescence, sometimes of colors I never knew existed. In the cold, the cave breathes warm air into my face. In the warm, a cool draft releases from within the cave. It often smells like a baking chicken, or a boiling stew, or baking muffins. After standing in front of the cave all night, I’m usually afraid of the world not directly in front of the cave, where sometimes things aren’t pleasant. I’ll curl up in front of it as the sun rises, and I’ll say that I’ll never leave. That’s when the beast that lives within the cave jumps out at me, roars at me, and chases me away, to work. He stops every time I enter the door. I’m usually on edge all day, but I’m always drawn back, even with that monster in there. I’ll bring you with me one day when we’re older. We’ll go inside the cave, hand in hand, the sound of a baby laughing drowning our ears, the glow blinding us, the warmth beating off our faces, the smells of delicious foods causing us to drool profusely. We’ll live like royalty there, and we’ll chase all others away.