The hunger falls on me again,
thought Fred. The desire for the
meal that remains uneaten, the
meat that is tainted by being
one’s own. The thinness, the
leanness, the real skinny, the
hunger. The desire for more,
for food, for destruction, for
a slow erosion of the lands, for
a greedy consumption of
everything, an exploiting. Fred
knows about the hunger. Fred
knows the ravening. He lives it.
He picks his teeth with the
bones of it. He hunts the tainted
meat, desires the flesh of his own,
even knowing it will never fill him,
even knowing it will never cure
the leanness. Too bad, he thought.
The consumption takes up too
much of his thoughts. It wants.
He wants. Too much.