The Hungry Silence

The Hungry Silence (Fully Expanded)

I woke to the world again, not with thought but with need. The cold seeped into my limbs, sluggish and stiff, and yet, there was a distant, relentless thrum in my chest. It wasn’t a heartbeat—not like before—but it was a pulse of something deeper. Something alien. Somewhere, buried under layers of rot and instinct, I remembered a time before this hunger. A time when I felt full, whole, alive.

That memory was gone now. Or maybe it was simply out of reach, buried beneath the infection that coursed through me like an invading army.

I opened my eyes, though it didn’t matter. Light and dark—they were faint distinctions. What I saw now wasn’t tied to sight as I once understood it. The world was dim, gray, and hazy, but certain things stood out. Life pulsed in the dark, threads of heat and motion that shimmered against the backdrop of cold emptiness.

The hunger stirred.

I staggered forward, my legs dragging awkwardly over the ground. My body moved without grace, each step unsteady yet persistent. The infection coursed through me, guiding my movements, driving me forward. My feet crunched through brittle leaves and cracked asphalt as I crawled free of the ditch where I had been lying.

I should have felt the icy wind slicing through my skin. I should have noticed the sharp twigs scratching against my exposed flesh. But those sensations no longer registered. Pain was irrelevant. Cold was meaningless. Only the hunger mattered.

And then, I caught it—the scent.

It was faint at first, a whisper of warmth and life carried on the breeze. But it grew stronger as I moved closer, filling my senses with an intoxicating tang. It stirred the infection within me, waking it from its sluggish state. My vision sharpened, the threads of heat becoming brighter, clearer.

The pulse of life called to me.

I didn’t think. Thought was a thing of the past, a luxury for people who didn’t have this fire raging inside them. There was no room for thought beneath the tidal wave of need that consumed me. My movements quickened, my limbs jerking with renewed purpose as I followed the scent.

I didn’t know how far I had traveled or how long I had been moving when I saw her.

The woman darted through the trees, her breath coming in quick, sharp bursts. Her warmth burned against the gray landscape, her body a blur of life and motion. I stopped, crouching low as I watched her. My chest ached—not with fear or pain, but with something else.

Anticipation.

The hunger surged, urging me forward, and I obeyed. My body moved with jerky determination, my legs dragging me toward her with relentless purpose. The infection gave me no choice. It had stripped me of choice long ago.

She stumbled, and I lunged. My hands grabbed at fabric and flesh, the warmth of her body igniting something deep inside me. She screamed, her voice piercing the quiet forest, and for a moment, I froze.

That sound. It was familiar. Not as prey but as… something else.

A flicker of memory surfaced, unbidden and unwanted. Laughter. The sound of my name spoken with affection. The warmth of another hand in mine.

What was my name?

The memory slipped away before I could grasp it, torn apart by the hunger. The infection demanded my attention, driving me forward. The woman clawed at me, her nails raking against my face as she struggled to break free. Her movements were frantic, her voice a mix of sobs and screams, but I barely noticed.

Her blood tasted like sunlight.

When it was over, I stood over her body, staring down at what remained. The hunger receded, but it didn’t leave me whole. It never did. Instead, I felt… empty.

There was no relief, no satisfaction. Only silence.

I stumbled away, my limbs heavy and awkward once more. The woman’s warmth was gone now, her presence fading into the cold, gray stillness that surrounded me. The infection inside me pulsed faintly, satisfied for now but always waiting. Always hungry.

And then I heard it—a sound that cut through the silence like a knife.

A cry.

It was high-pitched and desperate, a faint, trembling noise that sent a ripple of recognition through me. I turned toward the sound, my head tilting awkwardly as I listened. It wasn’t a scream of fear or pain, but something else. A call for comfort.

I followed the noise, dragging my body through the underbrush. The sound grew louder as I drew closer, pulling me toward its source. Finally, I found her.

A child.

She was small, no more than five or six years old, her tiny frame curled into a ball beneath the roots of a tree. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears, her chest heaving with sobs as she cried.

The infection surged, roaring to life at the sight of her. She was warm, alive, vibrant. Her tiny body was a beacon of heat and light against the cold void of the forest.

But something else stirred within me—a faint flicker of recognition.

I saw a boy, his dark curls matted with sweat, his small hands clutching at my leg as he cried. My son.

The memory hit me like a thunderclap, shattering the haze of hunger for one brief moment. I froze, my body trembling as the infection screamed for me to act.

The girl whimpered, pressing herself deeper into the tree’s roots. Her wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto mine, and I wondered what she saw.

A monster.

That was what I was, wasn’t it? A creature of rot and hunger, a hollow shell of what I used to be.

But the infection didn’t care about such things. It only cared about survival. About feeding.

I crouched low, moving toward her with slow, jerky movements. My body wanted to lunge, to take her warmth and make it mine, but I hesitated.

The girl whimpered again, her tiny hands clutching at the roots of the tree. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out toward me. Her small fingers brushed against mine, and for a moment, I felt something other than hunger.

Her warmth was overwhelming, a flood of life and hope that made the infection writhe in protest. I stayed still, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting instincts.

The infection screamed for me to act. It demanded I consume her warmth, take her life as I had taken the others.

But I couldn’t.

I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t.

The girl’s fingers lingered on mine for a moment longer before she pulled away, curling into herself once more. Her cries softened, but they didn’t stop.

I staggered back, my body trembling as I fought the infection’s demands. I couldn’t stay here. If I stayed, I would destroy her. The infection would make sure of that.

The girl cried out as I turned to leave, her voice echoing through the trees, but I didn’t look back.

The hunger would always win.

I wandered deeper into the forest, the faint spark of humanity flickering and fading with every step. It wasn’t enough to save me, but it was enough to remind me of what I had lost.

Enough to make me wish, for the briefest moment, that I could be something more than this.

But the infection didn’t care about wishes.

Only hunger.