synthic

[synthic]

Cold Hunger

Hunger gripped her stomach as she groaned in the living room. The headache was the only other thing able to distract her foggy mind from it. Last night must’ve been really bad if she blacked out that hard. The lights had been left on, and she tried to raise an arm to shade her eyes, but found that she was much too lethargic, instead forced to squint.

She saw some others lying around the floor, passed out among pools of wine and other bottles. Great, I’m the first. There were sounds in the background, from outside. A faraway beeping, likely from some reversing lorry, that echoed in her brain too loudly. It was day already.

While trying to crane her neck to look, all she could notice was the broken window. Maybe she remembered J, J… what’s-his-face bumping, or rather, smashing into it, but it was all too blurry. She smiled a little at the thought of him, but for some reason the flashback sent a pang in her chest. The confusion subversion was followed by the immediate sadness at how she could’ve possibly forgotten him. I’ve definitely had too much…

The light outside was even worse than the lamp, and the cherry on top was the stench she couldn’t place. For just five more minutes she sat there slumped, hoping for the aching to go away, and the memories to come back.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d spent on the floor by the couch, but when she came to again, she decided to just get on with it. She could kill for some food. With a struggling moan she hefted herself up on the armrest, unbalanced legs leaning on it. The effort made apparent her arm and other shoulder were aching too.

Caked and matted blonde hair fell across her face, shielding her from much of the brightness, and letting her look at the space. The square room opened up on one side to the narrow kitchen that extended away, with a hallway leading to the rest of the house between them. But her eyes lingered on the fridge. Food.

Suddenly she found herself on the floor, one hand outstretched toward the counter opposite the fridge. Her jaw hurt from the fall, aching like all the other places on her. While on the ground, she realised it didn’t feel that cold, but soon understood that it was she who was in fact cold, no doubt thanks to the "open" window.

She wanted to rub her eyes, soothe her cheek, or feel her arms for goosebumps, but all that happened was slowly rising along the counter toward its top. Once there, the fridge was but two steps to the right. Food.

Opening it with sluggish excitement, having managed to keep upright, she was quickly disappointed. No food? The smell wasn’t right she realised, unsure of what that meant. Her mood immediately soured, and she couldn’t help but sigh loudly in frustration. She leaned onto the door for support, slamming the fridge shut.

A noise stirred elsewhere in the house, then.

New-found hope filled her addled mind, and she went to the corridor to check. Maybe someone above had woken up too? Two were better than one, after all, including at getting food.

No longer as prone to fall over, she ambled along the wall to the entry hall, thankful for the bars of the stairs’ railing in the wall that slowly descended towards the main door. Her jaw still hurt, and no matter how she gaped and stretched it didn’t feel any better. All it did was tease her that she had nothing to chew on. I’m starving.

Before she could fully turn to get up the stairs, she heard someone talking there. Dazed as she was, however, she couldn’t make out the words. Unsurprisingly, since the now louder beeping hadn’t stopped, still echoing in her ears from outside the door. Clearly, they hadn’t been talking to her though, as she barely caught a glimpse of them disappearing out of sight in the dark. Followed by a loud slam.

She tried to get their attention, but couldn’t do more than slur, still. It didn’t make sense for her to be so out of it, but she couldn’t find it in herself to question much. Her body made the decision for her to amble up the stairs in the meantime. Not seeing a reason to disagree she let it guide her, it also didn’t stink so bad up there.

Each weak step felt like it should be her last, but somehow, she didn’t collapse. Any effort to grab the railing was met with the intense lethargy of knowing she could, but something stopping her from wasting the energy. Seeing as she hadn’t collapsed again, it felt okay. But she was still really cold, and really hungry. Please tell me you’ve got a snack hidden up here.

Once past the last step, one of the four doors lining both sides of the short hallway drew her attention. The second door on the right. It smelled… good. She slowly dragged her legs there, and for once didn’t feel the lethargy that usually followed any desire to move.

After struggling a bit by the dark wooden door, she realised she forgot to turn the handle. Eventually she manged to rest a limp hand on it. The hand quickly fell past as the door handle sprung back up, and the hinges creaked open.

Inside was a cramped bedroom, that barely fit the bed and desk on the sides. The light from the central window stung as before, but she could still do nothing but growl about it. Scanning the room, she only saw a bookshelf on her left. It barely squeezed in by the desk, itself blocked off by a chair. But the smell lingered. And she was really very hungry.

She took a few steps inside, thinking she recognised the bed. Not just from earlier, but from… way earlier. She didn’t understand what that thought meant. A heavy sigh left her lips, sounding more strained than she expected. Not seeing anything to snack on in here, she turned to leave. Until she was suddenly interrupted.

A soft sound reached out to her, one that struck a chord in her. Again, though, her mind failed her, but the deep tone made her warm inside. Something her frigid skin definitely appreciated. Nonetheless, she couldn’t quite understand what it was.

An attempt to say that name she still couldn’t remember, hoping him to be the one she had sensed earlier, only came out as a mumbled groan. The sound replayed though, more sharply this time however, so it wasn’t that much of a failure.

Her arm finally followed her urging, as she moved the chair, accidentally letting it topple over toward the bed. The harsh shadow prevented her from seeing clearly, but the smell was best in there. Finally. I’m starving. She opened her mouth in the beginnings of a smile that halted abruptly at the corners of the mouth. Excitement and relief mutely washing over her from having found some food.

As she lurched down to grab it, her head winced from a screech. It didn’t stop her arms, but it made her face grimace. Before she could analyse it all, something sharp cut her face, and she was pushed onto the fallen chair. That should’ve hurt more, shouldn’t it have? Her cheek felt slightly warmer, contrasted by her otherwise shivering skin.

Out from under the desk, crawled some other drunk, scrambling as far away as it could, under the window. The hazel haired man looked strange, green eyes shaking in his skull. His flannel shirt also had some spilled wine, like the others… A broken bottle had been left on the floor by his feet in its… Escape?

The sound was back, and it was something important, she realised. Part of it felt… stolen? No. But her brain wouldn’t let her understand. She was working overtime to remember things, but her body just kept going, and instead of feeling unable to move, she felt unable to stop.

While crawling forward to the food, there was a brief struggle, as her arms were stopped from getting at it. She couldn’t understand why she was struggling. The hunger, however, she could.

No longer so confused, she stopped fighting her body, and the feeling of lethargy left. She didn’t feel a lot other than cold, and a yearning in her belly and jaws. She was so close now to having a bite of food. Delicious food.

The sound… the voice? Was so loud. Her ears felt like bleeding. She wanted to tell it to be quiet, to just be food, and not anything else. But no words could escape her. Please, please, just be food. She needed it to be food. To stop screaming.

Millimetres from his face, an adrenaline-infused sense of déjà vu brought her relief to a grinding halt, as she saw the tears that weren’t there in her memory. Stop. No part of her body listened. STOP! Her face was crying, eyes the only thing that would obey. Tireless jaws kept up their defiance.

Suddenly it was quiet again, and she felt better. As she focused on her chewing, she forgot why the tears were there. They didn’t feel real. Her arms didn’t quite either, nor the light, nor the feeling of slacking arms in her grip. The only thing that felt real, that felt at all, was the ever-present cold. And hunger.