Though it seemed to me that the end must surely come soon, it was months before the finality was reached.  I have been unwell for months, bed ridden eventually by a mysterious disease.  Numerous doctors attempted to diagnose me, but to no avail.  My symptoms displayed as extreme fatigue, vivid dreams which plagued my waking and sleeping moments to such an extent that I became unsure of what was real and what wasn’t, sores and lesions which no cream could heal and above all an insatiable hunger.  The hunger never leaves me.

Bed ridden now, I have been abandoned by my doctors, frustrated by their inability to diagnose me.  I am left with a nurse to tend to my needs, which are simple as I have given up eating as the hunger never leaves me, and saline drips are ineffective – my body simply will not absorb the nutrition.

The fatigue which leaves me in the bed daily does not allow me sleep nightly, I have not slept for weeks now.

My nurse, Maeve, a particularly meaty specimen has begun to disgust me.   Watching her flabby arms dangle over me as she fixes my bed, or sponges me down, seeing food stains on her pants or in her hair, I feel a distaste toward her which nearly matches my hunger.  Late at night as sleep eludes me I fantasize about sinking my nails into her flesh.  I can’t imagine what her blood would taste like.  As I consider that crimson stream my hunger explodes and I am nearly maddened by it.

As the sun rises I ready myself for her entrance.  It may seem that I have come to this decision to easily, but I must stress the months of mental and physical torture which my illness has subjected me to.  Eventually she comes in, and she is actually well presented.  Her hair is clean and pulled back into a pony tail.  If I was capable of sexual attraction I may spare her, but I am not.  She reaches across me, her arm brushes my chest.  I grasp her wrist and she looks at me in shock.  She is not used to sudden movement by me.  She tries to break my grip, and now I am suprised; by my own strength.  While still holding her wrist I grip her upper arm with my other hand and dig my fingers into her skin.  Blood pours from the wounds I have created and drips across my bed sheets, the smell blooming into the room, and then all is dark for me.

When light and awareness returns to me I am lying on the sofa in the sitting room with no memory of how I got here.  Could it be that I have slept at last?  What saved me?  I move to the mirror above the fireplace.  Shock first comes due to the fact that my sores which have plagued me for the duration of my illness, then I realise I am standing.  I feel strength and energy coursing through me.  I look around the room, flexing my newly strengthened.  on the floor is the ravaged carcass of Maeve.  I fall to my knees when I see her, finally comprehending what had happened.  I have become a monster only surviving, thriving, truly living, thanks to the sustenance provided by human flesh.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Algocracy and the Transhumanist Project

The future of governance and values in the post-human era

Limerick Writers' Centre

Supporting Literature, Arts and Culture in Limerick since 2008.

NUIG Writers' Society

NUIG's society for exploring each other's writing in a welcoming environment.

%d bloggers like this: