Primal Appetite

The jungle's daytime cacophony, mostly birds and mammals, gives way to its nighttime cacophony, mostly amphibians and insects. Every scent stimulates me. I breathe cloying flowers, sour fruit, and the overripe odors of countless things thriving on the corpses of countless other things.

Movement catches my attention: a succulent frog. Instinct sweeps through my body. I aim. I shoot. I, too, thrive on the corpses of other things. I just have to hunt them first.

I vaguely remember being small enough to fear predators in the jungle. I learned speed by darting away from jaguar claws. I developed a knack for disappearing into shadows and moving when the sharp-eyed harpy eagles sleep. Now, though, I can shoot anything that threatens me.

I take down a little lizard. These appetizers are savory, but I need more.

Before long, five others join my search. It doesn’t matter if we came into life together, protected by the same father, nurtured by the same waters. In the hunt, we are sisters. We greet each other with subtle signals and fall easily into sync.

Dozens of our kindred are already working the finest fishing territory. There are more than enough morsels for all. My sisters and I blend in to the deadly dance. Water the temperature of my body glides over my skin. Over, up, over, up: we herd the massive school of fish closer to the riverbank. Two by two, we take it in turns to shoot.

We don’t know gluttony, any more than we know famine. Each hunter takes exactly enough fish, and then stops. The collaboration ends with the same cordial disinterest with which it began. Many of us will hunt together again.

Normally, I would slink off into the night alone. Tonight, the most handsome individual I’ve ever encountered catches my attention. He moves away from the fishing territory and signals to me.

He desires me.

I tilt my head back and take a deep breath. There’s an energy in the crisp, almost dry air. I know it in my core, even though the sensation is alien to me. Now that I’ve sated my hunger for food, there is a deeper, more primal appetite.

I follow him.

I unashamedly admire his body as he moves. He’s bigger than me by a good ten inches, maybe more. His muscles ripple pleasantly with every gesture. I linger just outside his home as he dances his undulating seduction. My reservations wash away like last season’s rain.

I enter his home. I join his dance. Electricity tingles between us as I touch him. I revel in his length. Our bodies intertwine. We move together in bliss until we shudder.

Satisfied, I dive down to his saliva-nest, cleverly nestled in a crevice between large rocks near the bottom of the river. I deposit my eggs, and move out of the way so that he can fertilize them. He’ll guard our larvae for the rest of the dry season, until the next generation of Electrophorus voltai hatches.