Something completely different - An Original Work

“Gluttony”

I woke that morning with a voracious hunger. Though I desired to immerse myself with the imprint my body had left on the mattress, to ignore the feeling and allow the warmth of the fabric cocoon I currently lay in to lull me back to sleep, some rational part of my mind couldn’t let go. It adamantly refused to succumb to the bed’s seduction. A painful churn in my gut echoed the damnable feeling of ‘emptiness’ that continued to disrupt my desire for more rest.

I decided that nothing would be wrong with a few more minutes of sleep and that the rumbles of my stomach would be sated eventually. I closed my eyes, determined to return to Morpheus’ realm, only for them to snap back open when the digital alarm clock started to play that ridiculous song about “Cauliflower Grills” or something along those lines. Music never made much sense to me, it was all the same noise. Reluctantly, I rose from my bed and began my day, whilst grumbles of the unfairness of life left my lips.

Throughout my morning, the same feeling of ‘emptiness’ afflicted me. I ignored it as best as I could during breakfast. It was harder on account of my decision to have a breakfast burrito, watching the clock go down was maddening. My stomach made sure to audibly inform me every five seconds about its empty state. It took me a quarter of the time to eat the burrito than it did to make it. It wasn’t as satisfying as I wanted it to be. I grimaced and went to my shed, where I had stashed my spare freezer.

The shed always smelled so fresh upon approach. My siblings complimented me on the care I gave it whenever we had a get-together, Janet was envious of its cleanliness and Mark was impressed with its upkeep. Mother criticized me on my habits, but I knew she was proud. And Dad, well, he never really understood Mother’s ways; he was gone before I could take the time to remember his face.

I pulled the wooden door open wide enough to slip in, and let it shut behind me. Tools, house care and gardening supplies lined the walls, all covered with a sheet of cobwebs and dust. The slightest of light filtered through the shutters, a particularly large ray landed on the icebox along the back wall. Hanging from the side of the box was a well-used meat cleaver. I glided towards the freezer and my mouth began to water. The simple combination lock that held the latch shut was undone in a flash, and I hefted the lid open.

Saliva fell from my mouth and splattered onto the contents of my icebox. I scanned the day-old kill and evaluated each portion. I’d already taken the thighs from my latest prize, and upon reflection I realize that I should’ve saved them. The breasts were lean and firm, likely a tough layer of muscle that needed more time to prepare than I had. A wing would have to do until dinner. I pulled out the pre-sliced limb and locked the box once more. I didn’t even bother with defrosting, preferring it as it was. I finished my meal and left the shed hastily, my stomach’s complaints sufficiently quieted.

I picked at my teeth with my tongue, before I struggled with something lodged behind my incisor and molar. It took a bit of digging with my finger, but I eventually pried the anomaly out. It was another deformed band with indentations on the inside. I shook its meanings from my mind and went to the bathroom, letting the ring fall in the junk cup that held others like it.

I’ll never understand the mating rituals of my prey.