Hungry. So hungry.
I made it out of the break room just in time to hide around the corner. The fridge opened, followed by a chorus of surprised gasps from my coworkers. I hurriedly wiped the crumbs from my mouth, sucking every morsel from my fingertips. That chocolate cake had been tempting me since Pete’s birthday lunch. For three hours I eyed the clock, counting down the minutes. Normally I’d be seething at the thought of someone stealing a $30 birthday cake from the best bakery in town, but today I understood how one could stoop to such villainy.
Hungry. So hungry.
Even after two deli sandwiches, a party-size bag of chips, and a hefty slice of rich fudge and chocolate, I was not satisfied. Throughout the afternoon I made frequent trips to the break room to steal other people’s meals and snacks. I even ate Claire’s criminally bland broccoli casserole!
Like a jaguar in the jungle, I hovered near the time clock, stalking the big bowl of candy at the reception desk across the hall. My eyes darted around for something to satiate myself as I waited. I tore a flier from its tack and slipped it into my mouth, chewing the paper slowly. As soon as the receptionist walked away, I speed-walked over, picked up the bowl, and put the entire thing in my backpack. I ran out of the building, through the parking lot, and dove into my car.
As soon as the door closed, my hands tore at the candy wrappers. I couldn’t get them open fast enough. My fingers turned brown and sticky as I shoveled chocolate bars into my mouth. I licked and sucked the gooey goodness off my fingertips as I grabbed chocolate drops by the handful. I chewed madly, the silver from the foil flying out of my mouth like spittle. I held the plastic bowl over my open mouth so the candy could flow freely into it, peppermint, peanut butter, and almonds all mixing with the plastic and foil wrappers like a giant soup. When there was no candy left, I scraped the old, dried chocolate off of the bottom of the bowl with my fingernail and sucked it, tongue working to get the scraps that had gotten under my nails.
Hungry. So hungry.
I squeezed the steering wheel as I drove. When it began to look too appetizing, I swerved into the parking lot of a supermarket. Once inside, I ran to the rotisserie chicken. I eyed them under the warm lights, soaking in their broth, slightly browned at the top and on the thighs. They looked so juicy. I picked one up and placed it in the top of the shopping cart, but not before tearing a leg off and eating it on the spot, bone and all. I walked around the salad bar, clawing at the chicken and shoveling it into my mouth. I swept pre-made entrees, bread, and desserts into the cart two and three at a time, not caring that some of the containers flipped over and some of the slices of cake and pie got smashed. I held the empty chicken pan up and slurped down the broth. A deli worker gave me a disturbed look, so I turned my back to eat the pan, not wanting any of the salty juices to go to waste.
I devoured two more rotisserie chickens and their pans before I got to the checkout line. My hands were so greasy that I could hardly get my credit card out of my wallet. I ignored the total on the screen. This unrelenting hunger required every penny to be satisfied. The customer behind me gawked at the plastic containers, the food so smeared from being mishandled that you could hardly tell what was inside. The cashier turned his nose up in disgust and made a point of spraying disinfectant onto the card machine while my receipt printed. I threw the groceries into the back seat of my car. I balanced a fourth chicken on my lap. It only lasted a block.
Hungry. So hungry.
At the first stoplight, I could no longer resist the residual chocolate smeared all over the steering wheel. I bit a chunk of the wheel off the top. I started going back for seconds, so I groped on the seat behind me and grabbed a container. It held a slice of apple pie. I grabbed hunks of the pie with my right hand as I steered with my left, the gap in the top of the wheel shifting from left to right. I drove as recklessly as I ate, weaving in and out of traffic, rushing to get home as fast asI could. My fingers scraped the bottom of the container. I scooped up as much of the cinnamon and nutmeg crumble as I could. Needing to keep my steering wheel intact, at a stop sign I searched the back seat for something more substantial. I grabbed a tin of mini brownies and tore it open. I popped four brownies in my mouth one after the other and chewed grandly like a cow.
A catchy, commercial jingle came on the radio.‘Join us for our grand opening on Saturday, June 10th, from noon to five!’ an overexcited spokesperson shouted.
Ah, June 10th. The extreme hunger made sense now, but it had never been so bad. Usually, I’d eat more fast food than normal or go out of my way to get nachos from that great Mexican restaurant two towns over. During this time of the month, I might stick my hand into the candy bowl at the reception desk on my way in and out, but I would never take more than one piece. I had certainly never been the type to steal birthday cake! And I had never, ever in my life, thought of stealing a coworker’s lunch – especially not broccoli casserole.
One entire bag of groceries, including the bag, was gone by the time I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex. I scooped the remaining three bags into my arms, which left me unable to eat anything for the few minutes it took to get from the parking lot to my front door. The wait was agony. As soon as I unlocked the door, I dropped the groceries and fell to my knees, ripping open a bag of barbeque chips. Normally I wouldn’t touch food if it hit the floor, but I greedily grabbed the stray chips and crumbs that flew out. I could not let one morsel go to waste. I sat on the ground and tore into everything until there was no trace of my large and expensive grocery haul.
Hungry. So hungry.
I ran to the fridge. A bag of apples was the first thing I saw. I chomped into them in big bites like a horse, hardly noticing the crunch and hardness of the stem and seeds as I ate their cores. I ripped open a brand-new loaf of bread as I heated a giant skillet. Eggs cracked and their yolks spilled as I threw them into the pan whole, along with an entire pound of bacon. I took all the produce out of the fridge, opening bags of spinach and salads and dumping the contents into the skillet. I didn’t even bother taking the mushrooms out of the small cardboard box they were in, instead munching the whole thing down like piece of toast. I bit into an onion, my eyes watering as I ate it like a piece of fruit. I threw an entire red bell pepper into the skillet and tried to mix the giant mess together. Eggs and their shells congealed around the thick slices of bacon. The spinach was all clumped together. Ignoring the heat, I scooped the contents of the skillet up on a spatula and spooned it into my mouth.
Eventually, the refrigerator and cabinets were completely empty of groceries. Cans of soup and beans, boxes of cereal with a full gallon of milk, a salami roll, three boxes of cookies, a pound of deli turkey, two containers of ice cream, and an entire block of cheddar cheese were gone down my gullet. I eyed the skillet and the remnants of the mix I made earlier. My fingernails and tongue scraped the edges of the pan as I tried to get bits of dried egg, stuck spinach, and bacon bits into my mouth. I licked the bottom of the skillet, tasting all the flavor that had been built up meal after meal. I could taste every meal that had ever been made in the skillet, so I ate it, too.
Hungry. So hungry.
I looked around the house and my eyes settled on Fred and Ginger. No, I shouldn’t. I can’t! They were just innocent goldfish won at the county fair. But fish is fish, right? I inched closer to them. Sensing danger, they began to dart around their bowls, eyes wide with impending doom. I reached in and grabbed Fred. He wiggled in my hand, his tiny mouth gaping, like he was pleading, “no no no!” I held him over my mouth and dropped him inside. Ginger tried desperately to swim away from me, but there was nowhere she could go. I lifted the fishbowl to drink its contents and belched afterwards.
‘Hey honey, you forgot to lock the door!’ my boyfriend Darryl called.
I set the fishbowl down and wiped my mouth. Darryl hung his jacket and keys near the front door. I walked over to embrace him. When we pulled away, I eyed his smooth, dark skin that resembled rich chocolate. I realized just how plump and juicy his full lips were. I began to salivate.
Hungry. So hungry.
‘I got held up or I would have been home sooner,’ Darryl said. ‘I could eat. How about you?’
I grinned. ‘I’m starving.’
Rita Taste is a bookworm who daydreams stories while running and always stops to smell the flowers. She is a fan of anything fantastical and morbid. If she is not reading, she is watching anime with one of her two black cats on her lap. She is @littlebitespoetry on Instagram.