Hunger

TRIGGER WARNINGS child death, cannibalism, implied child cannibalism, freezing to death, this one is rough.

I took a few steps, drowning in the snow. I shivered as the endless white went on forever in the horizon. I walked on, holding my sister's small, stiff and cold hand, and a cold nervousness slipped into my core.  

The loud whipping wind and constant falling whiteness filled our senses. The light of the sunless pale blue sky refused to bring us warmth. Katerina coughed gently. I clenched her hand, holding it tighter as if I had any warmth to spare.

The footsteps behind us faded, forgotten to the white demon of ice and frost. Mother Nature was an abusive parent, a dark shadow over this path of ice driving us to an inexorable death— yet here we were. A sixteen year old and a six year old trudging towards the smoke, only a few miles off. Delirious with the idea of fire, we walk.

Each crunch of the snow was a step toward shelter from the storm, a step towards a future for my sister. The endless scenery of the same white blinded us. I felt a small, almost imperceptible, tug on my arm. Her face was an ugly red and her eyelashes frosted over as she twitched. Too worn for words, she simply lifted her arms up. I picked her up, cradling her in my arms. The story of her footprints were cut short and four became two.

I remembered the first March, the first March of snow and ice as London was buried in white hell and society groaned and gave way. I remember my mother and father holding hands as they surged forward with hundreds of others towards the nearest generator, the nearest safe haven of warmth. They fell and stained the snow beneath us a grisly shade of red.

I wondered when I would write my story in the snow with red ink.

No, I couldn't let myself die—I couldn't let my sister die. Our stories would be written with paper and pen. White furred my legs with each step. The smoke cloud slowly grew, and the crowd of fires merged into a beacon of light. My sister coughed.

I thought of a life before the cold, before the snow fell, before warmth faded into a delusion of my fevered mind. I prayed, prayed to whatever God presided over this hell, that the smoke was real, miles away and close enough to touch. Smoke meant fire, fire meant warmth and warmth meant food.

My stomach’s agonizing groans grew as the starvation filled my mind. Nausea choked me, and the weight of a human in my arms starved me of strength.

Smoke was sweet hope as bitter hunger filled my every thought. The cold could preserve a dead body for years: food? I remember laughing at that thought. I may be desperate, but not that desperate.

As the fires neared, the snow was dotted with red, the only bright color in this white life. No bodies; only patches of red. The hope of food entranced me and I started to jog. The adrenaline filled me with hope. I began to run, running faster as the heat beckoned me towards it. Passion burned as the image of fire filled my brain — the same shade of red as the missing sun. My sister stopped moving. Her gloved hands stiffened, still clutching onto my jacket.

I would live to see a brighter day.

I started to slow down as I felt the warmth, and then I saw it. A camp. A camp of people— eating and smiling and laughing. One of them approached me as they took my sister to a tent. 

As I sat around the fire, I watched an icy reflection of life before the Great Frost. As I took a bite of warm meat, I watched teenagers playing cards, adults sitting around the fire telling stories, sports being played and women and men sewing jackets.

I looked around for the children.

I saw none.

I took another bite of meat, trying to listen for the telltale small voices and crying. Nothing.

I took another bite.

The knowledge that I would live washed over me, my insistent hunger finally satiated.

I watched them wolf down plates of meat—but there were no more animals left to hunt.

I stared at the meat, boring holes into the not-steak in front of me, my mouth dry as I poked at it with my fork. Thoughts of my little sister filled my memories as I filed those away along with the thoughts of my parents. I wondered if my heart froze just like the world around me. I took a sip of water. The children would die anyways, and we need to eat, need to stay alive somehow, right? Postpone our eventual deaths. There will be no history left of humanity. Might as well live.

And I took another bite.