Year 1700, Barcelona Spain
“Mama,” Dante called out impatiently waiting for his milk and sweet bread- his nightly snack before bed. Mama placed a cup half filled with white liquid and a piece of bread in front of him. “Gracias mama,” He took the cup to his head, downing a good amount and leaving a trace of the liquid over his upper lip. I wondered what that taste like, this white liquid that comes from cows.
“No problem mijo, you just hurry up and finish. It’s past your bedtime,” Mama warned leaving to go cuddle beside papa while he read and I watched my brother who sat across from me, eating away at what he calls bread. It smelled funny. According to mama that’s his food, when I question why I can’t eat what he eats, mama tells me that I’m different and his and papa’s food wouldn’t be able to sustain me.
“Are you finished yet?” Mama questioned and Dante shakes his head, mouth full of bread. “You have cinco minutos, understand?” Dante shakes his head up and down, taking another drink as the wind clashes against the boards’ papa put up by the windows and rain pelts the roof top; leaking through and falling into the many buckets that we have scattered throughout our home. Thunder claps viciously outside and I found it entertaining every time the thunder would clap, Dante would flinch in his chair looking up at the ceiling.
My brother and I are twins and besides the fact that we look alike, we’re so different; and I’m not talking about personality wise. Mama and I rest during the day and Papa and Dante sleep during the night. Dante eats multiple meals throughout the day and I hunt during the nights. I can do things with my mind, influence the humans to my liking and Dante, even though he’s not fully human, in a sense, he doesn’t have my inhuman abilities.
I whispered, “What does it taste like?”
“Bread? Or milk?”
“Do you want to try?”
I nodded glancing over at mama.
“Under one condition,” he said, “You have to let me taste what you eat.”
“Drink,” I corrected.
He looked at me a little confused, “I want to taste whatever you have,”
“Ok,” I said getting impatient, or was it because I was nervous that mama was going to hear. “Pass it up,” Mama always hears everything!
“Promise?” He goaded.
I stretched my hand across the table and wiggling my fingers for him to slide the cup. “Promise,” and I have no idea how I’m going to pull that promise off.
And he didn’t, Dante was pondering, contemplating on if he believed me.
I’ll show you how to do this. I sent him a telepathic message, a promise I could keep, I think and hopefully. If I don’t he’ll be very angry with me.
Dante’s eyes lit up, “Promise!?”
I nodded again, Promise!
He slid the cup over to me; I caught it glancing over at mama quickly and gulped down the remaining liquid. Tasteless...
“So, do you like it?” He questioned.
“I don’t taste anything,” I slid the cup back to him and thinking for the first time ever, we were quiet enough for her not to hear. Did we actually get away with?
Dante gave me a fazed glance, “How can you not taste anything?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I don’t taste anything,” I sucked on my tongue trying to pull the taste out, “nothing.”
My twin watched me addled taking a bite from his bread, “Do you want to try this?”
I nodded stretching my hand and I felt mama’s hard gaze on me, I pulled my hand back feeling spasms of pain exploding within my stomach. I grabbed my tummy holding the pain, doubling over and wincing back the tears, the impulse to cry out while rocking back and forth with the prolonged aching.