HUNGR

HUNGR

My mind’s gone blank—or, more correctly, my own thoughts have been drowned out by a whirlpool of darkness and uncertainty. “What have I done?” I thought to myself, my accessory to murder writhing, unable to resist taking one more swing at her skull to make sure she doesn’t get up so I don’t have to look her in the eyes.

Yet, as I walk over, those same eyes pierce my soul. Lifeless yet filled with misplaced love. The grip on my hammer loosens as my heart and mind catch up to the reality of my actions. She’s dead because I killed her, trapped in this pit I had no choice. There wasn’t any other way.

The pit began to darken as the light that had so dimly illuminated the sunken tomb fled, for even God refrained from shining light on what I had done. I’ve been counting the days and nights. It must’ve been 19 days since our orphanage was broken into and we had to run. Like demons, the hooded men took what they wanted and stole whoever their hearts desired and those who couldn’t satisfy their hunger were disposed of like defective toys cast aside to collect dust. 

I shouldn’t have been there to begin with.

The love of my parents only lasted for as long as they loved each other and when their relationship stopped so did their love for me. They no longer tended to me like they used to, no longer would they take me to school, no longer would they take me to football practice but worst of all, there was the hunger: A bond between the hunger for love and connection woven into real, heart-wrenching desire to eat. When Mother left Father lost himself, I no longer existed in his eyes as he found his new love in drink, that was all that mattered to him. 

I remember the look on my neighbour’s face when she saw me. I hadn’t been outside for a long time, the sun’s rays sought to cleanse me of all my sadness. It only brought my starvation to light. ‘He’s a walking corpse’, I heard the policeman say it over the radio. I was promptly removed from home and never saw my Father again. 

Placed into the orphanage, it was better than I thought it’d be, enough food to nourish my body and enough kids my age to talk to, easing my loneliness and despite all that there was still an emptiness inside of me, a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied with food. I was hungry to live, to live the life I used to have and more! I tasted it once only to be force-fed a cheap imitation. I don’t want to eat it. I can decide my future. I decide whether I live or die. I don’t have to feel sad about it, me wanting to survive.

I don’t have to feel guilty about killing her.

 I turn back to look at her body, I no longer shy away from her hollow gaze, my mind no longer spirals. I’ve accepted it and moved on. That’s why…

“I can forgive myself.”

The scurrying and screeching of rodents echoed like trapped souls taking their eternal torment out on me, snapping me out of my trance. I fixate on a rat—it must’ve crawled through the connected sewage pipe networks that surround the pit. 

It does nothing but stare at me.

It’s skinny, malnourished and frail but I scare it off anyway by looking at it with ferocity and brandishing my hammer.

It retreats into pipes, waiting.

I stare at the girl’s body aimlessly till I remember why I had to kill her, the backpack she had managed to fill with food before we escaped the orphanage. I pounced on it and pried open its chest, my relief fades. It wont be enough to keep me alive long enough for help to arrive. Maybe if I had struck her sooner I’d have more leftover for myself.

Searching through the bag my hand stumbles upon a surprise. My favourite chocolate bar, peeling back the wrapper I begin to recollect memories of the orphanage; of her. She was particularly nice to me ever since I joined, she’d always check I was adjusting well and introduced me to all the kids, she even gave up her blankets for me on the first night when I had none. When I think about it she was offering me her friendship in subtle ways, maybe she wanted to show me how sweet life here could be. She wasn’t alone. Not like me. She had a sister she could rely on, the orphanage was HER home. It was never mine, she could never understand me so we could never be friends and yet the more I think about it I think she decided we already were the moment we first met. 

She trusted me. Otherwise why would she wake me up first out of everyone when she heard the demons break in? And amidst the chaos of trying to escape I was still on her mind as she stuffed the bag with supplies.

My lips began to quiver as tears rolled over my face, she got herself killed. She shouldn’t have trusted me.

 I think back to when we ran deep into the forest, too afraid to look straight ahead and too frightened look back. We held each other’s hands and just ran till our little legs could no longer carry us, that’s when we fell. I remember waking up to her cries, I bruised my shoulder and slightly sprained my wrist. She got the worst of the fall, I watched as she clenched her broken arm in tears as blood trickled down her forehead. I did what I could to help her, asking if she was okay was out of the question so I tried to tend to her head. A nasty gash had opened up on top of her head in which I tried to seal with a bandage. 

Two days had gone by, no sign of help arriving or sounds of other survivors.

Five days, nothing.

A week had passed, we decided to ration our food for a further 2 days. We would’ve died without water and even that ran out a day ago.

Thirteen days in and our food was dangerously low. She kept reassuring me we’d live through this and that help would come, those same loving and almost reassuring eyes watched me as I tried to find a way to escape the pit, it was too steep and too slippery to climb out of. I tried too many times to count only to be put arse first back into the murky puddle we lived in and each time I fell my hope cracked like glass ever so slightly just waiting to fall apart. Her, on the other hand, kept her smile and a hopeful look about her, I couldn’t understand why so I just stared.

“We’ll survive this!” She says without tremble in her voice, as calm and still as a summer lake. Not once did she ever seem uncertain about our survival and the moment she was well enough to stand on her own two feet she began helping me try and climb out of our coffin. We must’ve fallen about 5 times before she suggested a different strategy.

“Here, I bet you could use this to pull yourself up better!” She pulled out a hammer from the backpack, I used the claw side of the hammer to slowly anchor myself and hoist myself up and out of hell. Alas, it seemed I didn’t deserve to be saved. I tumbled back into the depths below, the girl cushioned my fall and helped me get to my feet again. My mind began to spiral, maybe this was our future all along. To die here before I could even live, to be one of those souls who simply existed once upon a time. Forged and forgotten for all eternity. My heart began to burn as I clenched my chest, my eyes watered and my lips began to bleed as I bit into them.

“That can’t be the truth.” I thought to myself, if it were then why is my body on fire. Why does my heart beat so restlessly, why can’t I let go of the hammer? And why… why am I approaching her?

She turns around, hearing me approach her, I wonder what she sees as she looks at me. Even now her smile remains.

“Are you okay?” ~ she asks.

“I wanna live.”  my grip on the hammer tightens, so much so that it becomes part of me.

She smiles and turns around, pointing upwards, one swift strike to her head drops her. The crack of her skull sends shivers down my spine as blood paints the pit, turning the puddle she rested in into a distasteful brownish colour. 

I snap out of my daydreaming, 5 days since I killed her. I thought her giving me the hammer was my way out, my key to live. If she died then that meant more food for me, a better chance for me to survive. Sure it bought me an extra day or two but I’m still trapped, still forced to look at her. I drown out my conscience, reassuring myself; This is what anyone else would’ve done if they had to. 

It’s all finished, the food, the water. I’ve devoured it all. My stomach has already turned on me, eating itself and striking like a thunder drum whenever I try and deceive it with mud and dirt. I’m going to die if I don’t eat. My hunger leads me to her rotting corpse.

The rats watch as I eat.

It doesn’t help. I regurgitate anything I once stored and end up hungrier than I was. Am I being punished for what I did? I ask myself as half my face lies in the motionless puddle of the pit. I saw an opportunity to live and I took it so why do I feel like I’m still going to die. Does no one see me suffering? My struggle? My determination to live?! 

I use whatever strength I can muster to pull myself up and grab the hammer once more. I didn’t do all that I could to still die here. I refuse. I begin climbing up the pit again with all the rage and resentment I had within me, I’m doing it. I’ve climbed further than I ever have.

“Fortune favours the brave!” I say to myself, they had cringey posters like that all around the orphanage and for once I can’t wait to see it again. Police will definitely have been called to help, who knows I might run into a search party looking for me when I get out. It could’ve been on the news: 

‘Orphanage robbed and raided, multiple dead and missing!’ No doubt, hundreds, maybe thousands of people will have been praying as many people as possible survive, that includes me, right? Maybe Mum and Dad have been looking for me too! Coming back together to save their son, if that doesn’t repair a family I don’t know what else could. I can’t wait to— my footing’s off, my feet slip and I gasp as I try to hold onto the hammer. In a last-ditch attempt to save myself I scream and try to stab the hammer’s claw into the pit again. 

I’m not strong enough. 

I fall back into the pit, it’s darkness consuming me forevermore. My legs are broken, bone protruding out of my trousers. I scream; it’s more like a whimper if anything, I don’t have enough strength to wail. Its raining heavily, I can’t tell if I’m crying or it’s just the water falling down my face. What else could I have done? What more should I have done? I reach for the hammer, it’s landed several feet away from me.

I couldn’t grab it even if I wanted to. The rats have gathered in number. I didn’t notice it but the one I saw days ago was dead. 

It’s been eaten.

They’ve circled me like vultures, bickering and hissing amongst each other as if they’re deciding who gets the first bite and who has dibs on my fingers. Before I can prepare myself they begin tasting me, biting into my flesh slightly to see how I’ll react. To figure out if I’m dead or just too weak to fight for my life. I see a rat crawl up to me, it’s got glowing red eyes and a smile drenched in desperation. It gives me its gratitude before ripping into my nose.

The others follow suit as hundreds of rats charge at me like a buffet about to close, theres not alot of food to go around so they begin fighting and eating each other. I don’t know what’s worse, the feeling of being eaten alive or the sound of hundreds of hungry monsters screaming as they eat you… and even now I can’t focus on the answer to that.

I’m just too hungry.