She crouches uncomfortably at the edge of the chair, ready to flee at any sign of danger. Peeks out at Jheri from behind strands of her hair.

Jheri pushes a clay cup across the table towards her. Cautiously, Rasa wraps her hands around it. Warm. Filled with white liquid, foamy on the top. She gives it a tentative sniff.

“Milk,” Jheri says. Rasa blinks, she doesn’t know what that is. “Drink it. It’ll help you get stronger.”

Obediently, Rasa sips at the liquid. Warm, sweet and sharp on her tongue. It makes her feel warmer. She remembers now, she has had it before, it brings back vague feelings of being very small, being carried, gazing up at huge furry animals.

Milk.

She looks quickly up at Jheri, then back at the milk. Drinks it in quick gulping sips.

The smell when I came downstairs made me more alert than usual. It was earthy first, then the hints of chocolate came in and mixed with the heavy smell of bacteria. The warm twist let me know I was getting close to it. I crept around my house like someone that thought they heard a robber, then I saw my son asleep at the table with the glass of chocolate milk. It had been out all night, and the earth-killing 78 degrees that my house stayed on in the winter, had made it sour horribly. I had to get rid of it. Luckily for me, I had hoarded at least a thousand plastic bags and had enough poop-scooping experience to get me through the most disgusting smells. I grabbed five plastic bags, layered them, and reached for the cup. As soon as I got it, I covered the top with one hand so it wouldn't spill on my baby, and enveloped the whole thing. I could hear it sloshing around, and feel the warm gelatinous creation as I tied the bag. As quickly as I could, I made a beeline for outside, not even putting on my coat, and tossed that sucker in the dumpster.

After vigorously washing my hands, I went back to the table and kissed my son's forehead. He didn't stir. I made a face then shook him a little bit. Something metal clamored noisily to the floor and his right arm fell limp at his side. That's when I saw his crimson-soaked Star Wars pants and the folded bit of notebook paper with "Mom" written at the top of it next to his limp left hand. My heart sank as I instinctively shook his corpse to wake him up, then frantically raced to find my phone.