I am so very hungry. nosleep

I am hungry again.

My stomach is growling so loudly that the cat, who is sat atop a mountain of trash and laundry and empty cans on the other side of the room, glances over towards me. His green eyes narrow into slits, and then he blinks and looks away. Gosh. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he was judging me just then; he has absolutely no right to do that, given that he happily tucks into my leftovers when they're offered.

There’s a few scraps of meat still left in his bowl. I tend to leave the fatty parts of my meals for him, because I’m very health conscious. Seriously, there’s a woman right now doing aerobics on my greasy television screen, her spandex pulled tight over an equally tight ass. (My dad used to claim it was strange that I noticed things like that about other girls, but his opinion doesn’t matter anymore.) Had I not been quite so hungry, I’d have been joining in with her, stretching my body and working out. I’m so damn skinny at the moment: stomach concaving, arms like bones, cheeks with great hollows in them. Frankly, it's gross.

So, I check the refrigerator. Nothing, just as I expected; I must have finished everything from that last big meal. Any leftovers tend to be stored up and eaten the next day, because I’ve never been a wasteful person. My mom always used to say that I’d consume anything put in front of me- that isn’t really true, but I do tend to save the things I like.

I go out in search of food to bring home, giving my cat a cursory glance on the way to the door, and he stares back at me with those solemn eyes of his. Damn. He’s lucky that I’m not really quite as omnivorous as my mom used to say, or he’d be on tonight’s menu.

And here comes the best part. I walk into town and do some window-shopping, eyeing up my options. Am I looking for a healthy option, or something more substantial? Something exotic, or more familiar? It’s dark outside, past midnight, but I still have a fairly wide spectrum of choices. Even if I’m not truly indiscriminative when it comes to my food, I do have certain tastes that need to be satisfied, especially when I’m this hungry. Boy, am I starving. I haven’t had a proper meal since the family dinner last week.

I find a little place in a back-alley (my city’s got a thriving indie culture, with lots of small establishments where you can find good food) and take something back from there. It’s not to my usual taste, but I’m an experimental person who is perfectly willing to branch out on occasion.

I take a long, slow, savouring bite, and juices dribble down my chin. God, that tastes good. So good that I allow the gravy to remain on my face; it is as though the meal has marked me as its own. Or, more accurately, as its owner. It's consumer. After swallowing, I grip with both hands and run my tongue along the indent that I have left behind. It is delicious, savoury and sweet at the same time, and I am craving another mouthful. There is a layer to keep what lies within contained, and I tug at it with my teeth. I taste a little. It’s chewy. Not as good as the inside, but still suited to my palate. I am so very hungry, after all.

More juices run down my chin, as I take another bite. Mmmm, ohhh. It is so warm and juicy, and my teeth cut through it like warm knives through butter. Or perhaps that is an exaggeration. I don’t care, really. It is still so very good.

And then the meat moans. “Hnghh,” it says. It cannot speak very loudly, because I have gagged it. “Hnnghh!! Hnnghhhh!!!”

“Be quiet,” I tell it. “I'm trying to enjoy my meal.”

Submitted March 02, 2016 at 03:39AM by StomachGrowls http://ift.tt/1QqJmVx nosleep