A hunger that is something else...

 Hunger is what drives us—what drives all of us. It is the reason we don't sleep, don’t blink, and don’t even need to breathe. Hunger binds us together, urging us to hunt in ravenous packs, like ants swarming over each other in a frenzied race to reach the sweet, melting dollop of ice cream that plummeted to the sidewalk. It is the ache that never ceases, a gnawing pain deep in our guts, as if some gremlin worse than us is slowly chewing its way through our insides. It's ironic, really.

  I can’t say if the others think the way I do, or if they think at all—aside from that primal, unshakable knowledge that eating is all that matters. We don’t speak. We can’t. Our voices are reduced to screams, moans, and howls— which all carries the same message: “FOOD!” But perhaps it’s more than that—perhaps it’s the thrill, the frantic, gluttonous lust of finding a fresh victim.

I remember, though. I remember who I was—well, to some extent. Faces from my past still linger in the others, faint shadows of the people I once knew. Even now, despite the rot and the missing pieces—noses, eyes, ears—I can still make out traces of their former selves. I know what the words “love” and “anger” mean, but I no longer feel them. There's a part of me, buried deep, that once believed I was a good... person? But what it means to be good, or how to be good at all, is something I can't remember anymore. And I don’t think I care.

Day or night, it doesn’t matter. But right now, I know it’s day, because the light is bright. Still, it’s the smell that truly matters. I wonder if the ones without noses can still sense it. I walk alongside one now, as about ten of us shuffle through an overgrown field, littered with some kind of rotted “food” we have no interest in. There are two buildings ahead of us. One is tall, wide, with huge doors left open, a mockery of welcome, a false hope. But the other... the other has the unmistakable scent of food.

Two of us in front of me begin to stir, their movements quickening. They shuffle faster, their low groans tearing through their ruined throats, sounding like injured cats trapped in a dark corner. I feel it swelling inside me too, that gnawing pull, the hunger building. Then I see it—movement. A window, briefly exposed before quickly darkening again. Without thinking, I push past the two in front of me, my head beginning to pulse with anticipation. I will be the first to feast. Some of the others follow, their hunger matching mine, and with their surge, the pounding in my head intensifies, roaring to a thunderous crescendo.

A door, half smashed but hastily boarded up again, comes into view. I can see inside through a small crack, just enough to catch a glimpse of what’s beyond and I lurch forward with the others close behind. I hear their low moans building into a collective roar, the yearning spreading like wildfire and I smell the meat beyond, hits me like a rush of cold air, sharp and intoxicating. Yet this beckoning sliver of light if too small, some of them try to force their way through, slamming their decaying bodies against the wood, but it’s no use. The door holds. I shove past them, a surge of strength and frustration rising in me. My hands claw at the splintered wood, pulling and tearing, desperate to open it wide enough to get through. My fingers slip, slick with rot, and I growl in frustration, but I won’t stop.

Then I hear it, causing me to pause; the unmistakable sound of a voice—a scream, high-pitched and terrified. It’s enough to make my withering heart race along with the thunder. But, it also sounds… human? Something shifts within me just as there is a new sound, a new smell, and both are intoxicating. But it’s not like the others. This one is softer, frantic—almost... fragile? A word—faint, like a ghost—rises from somewhere deep within me. A word I didn’t know I remembered: “baby.”

I shove past the others yet again, a mix of frustration and hunger growing inside me. The others didn’t hesitate like I did. They don’t feel like I do, I shockingly realize. But why do I? I slam my shoulder against the door, trying to break through, my mind screaming, my heart pounding, but still, the nagging feeling lingers. It’s just a whisper. Just a thought. A memory? I can’t remember. But it’s there, like a shadow, just outside my reach. And for the smallest moment, I wonder if there’s something more than just hunger. Something... else.

Then, one of us—a big one—finally breaks through the weakened threshold that I helped create. The door shatters, splinters flying as it gives way. They barge through without hesitation, and I follow behind, my movements automatic, as if drawn. The others scatter, lost in their chaotic hunt, and I hear the screams—a chorus of terror, a melody I’ve grown used to. But it’s not those screams that pull me in.

No, it is something else.

I sense it before I see it. The faintest flicker of action—something different. I follow the scent, a unique, almost unnatural smell, familiar in a way I can’t explain. My rotting eyes track it effortlessly, past the sounds of fresh meat, past the chaos of devouring. I hear their frenzied gnashing, their slurps and groans, but none of it matters.

I need to find this thing.

I need to understand why it’s different. Why does it—this scent, this feeling—matter to me when everything else screams for flesh? It’s a pull, like a thread unraveling deep inside me. It calls to something I can’t name.

And I can’t stop. Not now.

Then, I do see it; A tiny thing, so small, so weak—a morsel of beautifully sustaining flesh. Ripe for the picking. Insatiable. Fresh. The hunger surges within me, sharp and immediate, overwhelming in its intensity.

But then—something shifts yet again. A new side of my brain wakes up, screaming with memories I can’t grasp, forgotten fragments clawing their way to the surface. I look at this... thing. This tiny creature, so helpless, so different.

And I don’t know what to do.

The hunger demands to be fed. But this—this is... wrong. It doesn’t make sense. A shriek, a cry, another word I can’t place... pulls at me, deeper than the hunger. Something inside me swirls—faint but strong—and for the first time, I hesitate.

I look at it, this thing so vulnerable, and I don’t know why, but I feel... something. It’s not hunger. It’s... protective. But why? Why does it feel like this is mine to defend?

Then, it comes. Another morsel for me but when this flesh enters my urges peak to maximum capacity and again I find myself gnashing my teeth but then the meat speaks and some vagrant part of me understood; “Please,” it said, “please don’t hurt my child. Take me instead.”

There’s liquid from this meat’s eyes, something wet, and it confuses me, yet it feels so oddly familiar. My mind spins in chaos, a storm of hunger battling against... this. I want to devour it. I need to feed, and the scent fills my senses, making the thunderstorm in my head almost unbearable. But then, this tiny thing—the baby—it counters it. In a way I can’t explain. Something about it feels so wrong, yet... so right. It quiets the storm in my mind, just for a moment. I hear them getting closer, the others. I stumble back and forth, caught in a whirlwind of perplexing turmoil. And then, I move. The larger one tries to throw something at me, but I ignore it. I push the tiny creature—this fragile thing—into a box, shoving it through an open door, towards this other delectable morsel. I did this all for reasons I cannot comprehend.

I fall to the floor after this, I don’t know if I will get up again; I don’t feel hungry anymore.