The Hunger

When I first woke up, I had no idea where I was. My eyes were sticky with sleep and my head was pounding. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth. I was certain my breath smelled like something had crawled down my throat and died. Without moving my head (I wasn’t ready to chance that yet), I let my gaze travel around the room. Empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays littered the coffee table next to the couch on which I found myself. I recognized it as my friend Ernie’s house. Of course; the party last night. I started to wedge my body upright and was rewarded with a jolt of pain. I looked down, certain that I would see a knife hilt sticking out of my shoulder.

I hadn’t been this hungover since that time Ernie invited us all to come help him drink a bottle of tequila his older brother had brought back from a trip to Mexico. We were fascinated, and a little disgusted, by the segmented worm floating at the bottom of the bottle. At first, we had been laughing as we went through the ritual lick of salt, followed by the shot, and then the refreshing squeeze of lime. By the end of the night, I was hung over the toilet, face to face with the contents of my stomach. I ended up splayed out on this very same couch to face the music the next day.

As the gears in my brain sluggishly churned to life, I had dim visions of some dancing the night before, and maybe even some wrestling. Ernie’s parties tend to get pretty wild. Who knows? Maybe I had bumped into the wall or fallen over onto my shoulder. I didn’t like the fact that there was a big gap in my memory. I remembered getting there a little before 9. I remembered seeing Stacy when I came through the door and shouting a greeting to be heard over the music. The crowded room smelled of weed, too many bodies, and spilled beer. A thick haze of smoke clustered near the ceiling. I noticed Stacy’s glazed eyes with large, black pupils. She was off on her own trip, as usual. “Where’s Ernie?” I shouted. Stacy couldn’t muster the words. She pointed to the back of the apartment in the general direction of the kitchen and burst into laughter like this was the funniest thing in the world.

I jostled my way back to the kitchen and Ernie handed me a shot glass before uttering a single word. It was the admission price I would have to pay if I was going to get a chance to say anything. Ernie was like that. He liked to have control over the situation with everything on his terms. I downed the shot, feeling it burn and spread warmth in my chest. Before I even had time to register the effect of the alcohol, a blunt came around and I took a long hit, coughing out the smoke to the amusement of the kitchen crowd. I remembered I had wanted to ask Ernie if he knew anything about the sirens I had heard on my way over. But as the weed and alcohol numbed my senses, I didn’t bother to ask the question. I wanted to avoid another round of laughter at my expense.

I remembered those first moments of the party, but was struggling to recall more. I tried to reach back for more details, but they were sparse. I recalled that at one point, people were screaming and running around. That clocked for an Ernie party. I had been there when he pulled some crazy shit. At one party, he filled up his super soaker and ran through the crowd squirting people, causing general pandemonium. It was possible he had broken out that old chestnut. As my head started to clear, I realized I was starving. I fumbled in my pocket for my phone, but came up with nothing but lint. I realized that somebody else was layed out on the floor, but they were dead to the world. I didn’t bother trying to figure out who it was. What I needed now was some real food to get me headed back to the world of the living. I leveraged myself off the couch and started for the door.

I must have slept in an awkward position. Each step was stiff and awkward. My shoulder was burning, like the shoulder blade was poking through the skin. I tried to move my arm and was greeted with a jolt of pain. I decided to just let it rest by my side. First, I needed food. Then I would evaluate what was going on with my dumb shoulder. I stumbled past beer bottles and cans, kicking one under the recliner in the corner. I squinted at the bright sunlight that met me beyond the front door.

It was Sunday, so the streets were pretty quiet. I hadn’t caught sight of a clock at Ernies and, without my phone, I had no idea what time it was. I noticed some strange things as I shambled down the street, but my brain didn’t have the horsepower to make sense of them. The door to a small grocery store stood open, lazily swinging back and forth. Down the block, a car had jumped the curb and smashed into a tree. The front end was a mass of crumpled metal, with broken glass littering the sidewalk and the hood. I absently wondered how long it had been there. Maybe the towing businesses didn’t work on Sunday mornings. I saw a small crowd of people down the block, gathered at a new Dunkin’ Donuts. America sure does run on Dunkin’, I thought, smiling to myself. My stomach growled again, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to eat. I cringed at the thought of sugary donuts and bitter coffee.

I got closer to the crowd and a woman near the back of the line turned and looked in my direction. Her scream echoed off the buildings. I turned to see what she had seen behind me, but there was nothing there. When I turned back, the crowd had run down the block. I didn’t understand. All I knew was that if I didn’t eat something soon, I was going to pass out.

I pushed open the door to the Dunkin’ and went in. There was an old man at the counter making his order. My footsteps clattered on the floor and he turned towards me. I could smell him. Not his breath or his cologne, but his blood. It was making me crazy. He lost the grip on his coffee and it splashed to the floor as he looked at me with wide eyes. I reached my hands out in front of me, ignoring the pain in my shoulder. Two more steps and I would have him in my grasp. I needed him.

A dim part of my consciousness fought my actions as I gripped the old man’s shoulders, but I couldn’t resist the imperative. The clerks behind the counter scampered towards the back of the store. I lowered my mouth to the man’s neck and opened it wide. I bit down, tearing out a chunk of flesh and feeling the warm rush of blood course down my chin. I didn’t register the man’s screams. I only knew that I was hungry and this was the only thing that would satisfy me. I went for another bite, this time on his meaty face, ripping away one cheek and part of an ear. His scrabbling hands grew weaker and he collapsed to the ground. I knelt down on the bloody floor next to his body and fed my hunger.