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The Belly of the Beast
The Belly of the Beast Therese Villarubia
It was dark inside the wolf. Wet, too.
I shifted my leg and grimaced as my foot settled against the fatty fold of muscle covering its hip bones. It oozed up through my toes and I shuddered with discomfort. I folded my fingers across my abdomen, staring up at the segmented spine above me. Bones are pretty nasty when still inside creatures; they weren’t white and smooth at all but layered in translucent pink tissue and slimy-looking.
I was cradled inside the wolf’s belly, my back against its stomach and my knees pulled up against my chest. My kneecaps brushed its back. Thankfully, I had a once-white cloak pulled tightly around my body and the hood was drawn over my head, so at least my hair wouldn’t get gross.
I stretched my legs out, just to spite the wolf. He shuddered as I braced my feet against his fleshiness and shoved outward with all my might. The curved red muscles on either side of me pulsed angrily.
Eventually, the wolf had to decide whether I was more trouble than I was worth. Then he’d either cough me up, or he’d digest me.
I wasn’t sure which I preferred.
Suddenly, my stomach growled. Or maybe the wolf’s stomach growled— although, come to think of it, that wouldn’t make much sense. He had a whole human in his belly, one that he was still thinking about digesting, but I—
Gurgle, gurgle, grah, feed me.
I sighed and reached up to rap my fingers against the wolf’s spine. The wolf would have to get hungry, too. I’d felt him running earlier, the length of his body compressing and widening weirdly in contorted ways that interrupted my nap.
Conveniently, the wolf’s head bent (I could feel it in the vibrations of his dark, wet body) and began making harsh, jerky movements, as if he was tearing into something.
Ah, good. Food.
I tilted my head back, sure to keep my hair covered by the reddened hood. Any moment now...
A swallow. Then—
A neat plate slid down his throat and came to a rest in front of me. There was a salad covered in shaved carrots and drippy dressing, a cooked steak “ Bones are pretty
nasty when still
inside creatures “
with little toothpicks sticking out of it, and a glop of mashed potatoes. Another swallow, and a sweating glass of water slid after it.
I inhaled and closed my eyes in pure ecstasy.
“That’s for table twelve. Chop chop!” I blinked, opening my eyes.
There the plate sat, but instead of in a wolf’s gullet, it lay innocently on a long wooden counter.
There I stood, but I was surrounded by the clatter of silverware and the chatter of sated people instead of a wolf’s belly. I was upright, my feet on a wooden floor that even now creaked at the slightest shift of my weight.
I straightened my apron, selfconsciously fingering the dot of ketchup stain on it.
I scooped up the plate (my stomach whined), tucked a lock of hair back into my headscarf, and spun around to head back into the belly of the beast.
