Dear Fellow Traveler,
It can be hard not to think about things, so he learned it helps to imagine a box in his mind, and when he thought of things he hated thinking about, he would imagine stuffing those things into the box, so he can then shove it far back into his head. Like how someone boxes up old decorations to hide away in the attic to be forgotten.
It honestly helps.
So does filling his stomach so he doesn’t have to worry about sleep eating in the middle of the night. So long as something was in his stomach, he’d sleep well enough.
Depending on where he was, food could be easy to find, or hard to the point his hunger pains started. Hunger pains were dangerous, they made him sleep walk, and even sleep eat. They were dangerous.
Summer can hit quickly, especially in the Arizona desert. But it was better this way. The heat and wide open spaces helped in a few cases, though finding shade to sleep in was a bit difficult. Still he managed, it was just better this way.
Until hunger pains hit-
[-And in other news, another herd of farming cattle has been attacked by wild dogs during the early hours late last week, yet the hounds haven't been caught, so the local police are still cautioning farmers and townspeople to be careful when around the brush or at night-]
He turned his head slightly, catching a bit of the news report out of the corner of his yellowed eye. Just hearing that made his hair itch. Wild dogs. Well, it was closer to the truth than what they could comprehend. Oh well.
He just took a seat as the waitress led him to a table with a menu. The rest stop diner was relatively empty, the air conditioner running, and the sound of dishes clanking, light chatter, and a sizzling grill. It was nice.
Once the waitress left to get him water, the young man looked over the menu, but had already decided on the cheapest thing. He didn’t really mind the taste, so long as it was “filling”, anything to keep himself from getting hunger pains again was fine with him. Though it made him miss his mother’s stew.
After deciding, he glanced at his reflection in the window. He looked haggard, but luckily he had washed a bit at the gas station restroom before walking to the diner, or else the waitress might have kicked him out. Personally he couldn’t tell if he smelled, or if maybe his backpack also smelled or not? But at least he wasn’t sweaty. Still he should find a place to wash his backpack, or find a way to get a new one, once he hits town.
The clothes he had taken from a drying clothes line were still baggy on his thin limbs, but whoever they belonged to, at least they kept them clean enough. They were better than the clothes he had worn to the point of becoming ragged. He looked halfway normal. But the other half made him look like a drug user.
If only that were the case-
Nope. Nope, he wasn’t going to think about that again.
Quickly he beat those thoughts to death and stuffed them back in a box in his mind. He had a moment to rest, he was gonna have a decent meal, and enjoy comfy seats, and NOT think about when his life got fucked sideways. It was in a box, he wasn't gonna think about it.
The news channel made him crave meat again, so maybe he should order something and ask for it to be cooked rare…
Hopefully it would be enough so he didn't end up eating someone's pet again... ok not the best image to think of…. He hated how it both disgusted him… and aroused his growing appetite-
Ok, another thing he had to stuff into “Fuck these thoughts” box-
Pinching a bruise on his arm helped a bit...
The young man leaned his head against the window glass, his messily grown hair falling further into his face as he let out a long sigh. He needed a haircut, but dammit if he was going to do it himself again. He was tired…
Still he minded his manners with the waitress, and asked for fried chicken steak with biscuits and gravy. Hopefully he could take advantage of the “bottomless soup and dinner roll” deal they had.
So long as it kept his stomach busy for a bit…
Now to keep his brain busy for a bit before the box opened again.
He reached into the pocket of his dusty jeans and pulled out a phone with a crack along the screen. It didn’t have service, but wifi was helpful. Also it wasn’t his, but it still had some good music in it to listen to. Stressed Out was a favorite of his, it was so relatable it hurt like alcohol on an open wound he kept picking at.
It distracted his mind enough that his stomachs growling would get drowned out.
Soon the box in his mind stopped trying to open, and he was able to enjoy the relaxing energy of the diner. It was best he didn’t stay too long, so he decided to soak up the bit of socializing he could manage.
To be an extrovert forced to be introverted, was a different kinda hell all together. He craved social interaction, even though it was a terrible fucking idea, it was hard to resist what little he could get.
He smelled his meal before he heard the plate get settled on the table. He couldn’t ask for raw chicken without looking like a crazy person, and steak was EXPENSIVE, but the hot food was satisfying to the parts of him that remained. It burned a bit, hot meals always did, but he didn’t complain.
The fried chicken steak’s crispy breading was well seasoned, and wasn’t greasy, the meat was juicy, and tasted great with the gravy from the biscuits. The biscuits were flakey, though he could tell they weren’t hand made, still, baked right tops being raw or dry. At least that's what he wanted to believe.
The soup of the day was a simple cream of vegetable soup, and the buttery dinner rolls were a good compliment. Maybe it was the aumature chef in him, but he couldn't resist listing off the ingredients he could taste with every spoonful.
He missed cooking for himself though, even if the college dorms weren’t much, he missed mixing and testing with cheap foods to make good meals.
But just because he missed it, didn't mean he could go back, and just like a week ago, when he was alone in the forest, if he let himself miss it too much, he would have to beat the memories back into the closet, along with everything else HE WASN'T GOING TO THINK ABOUT.
Just beat it back into the closet with a stick and slam the door shut.
He ate the fried chicken steak slowly, but drank the hot soup as much as possible, hoping and PRAYING he wouldn't get kicked out. But fuck if he wasn't going to have to piss a river after that.
After his fourth bowl of soup along with his steak (practically licking the plate) and pocketing a few rolls with some jam packets into his backpack, he got up to pay up front after making sure he hadn't left a mess.
When he paid for his meal, the waitress who took his money gave him a to-go box full of something. He looked at her surprised, but before he could correct her, she said to enjoy his take out, with a, 'Just take it' smile of good will.
Guess he was more homeless looking than he had thought, but being polite and clean seemed to have earned him food for later, so no complaints.
Still, an act of kindness like that from a stranger left him feeling-
Utterly appalled and disgusted. It was a comforting feeling.
"Just means it can't surface," he sighed before grimacing as his body was engulfed in the blistering heat of the afternoon sun.
The only good thing about this body was he didn't sweat, and despite everything in him feeling like it was crumpling like a sheet of paper, he didn't get heat stroke. It was an odd feeling.
As he walked along the side of the road, he listened to some oldies, classic rock had always been comforting to him. It made him remember when his dad played his collection of records. Sometimes cable would randomly stop working because of snow, so to keep him and his siblings entertained, singing along with "Crazy Train" was a good swap for Teletubbies.
Listening to that playlist on repeat made the hours and miles pass like nothing, and soon the blinding blue and white sky began changing colors as the sun made way for his sister the moon. The world around him started changing as light vanished, and it was so weird not to feel a prickle of unease. Instead he felt sluggish, the heat was fire on his skin, but the night time and it's cool air was relaxing.
He didn't feel any worry about the possibly venomous rattlesnakes or hungry night stalking carnivores that appeared when the moon watched over them. Instead, the young man's worry was about flat out falling asleep while walking. "I can sleep when it's hot out…!" The man hissed at himself as he forced his slowing feet to keep moving.
It was startling to hear a loud engine rev through his headphones, but while he didn't feel any particular sense of fear seeing a trunk right behind him, at least it woke him up. Guess he had gotten too busy keeping himself moving to notice-
A truck full of rednecks…. in the middle of who cares no where, following a native while hollering some kinda nonsense, it was reckless attempts at intimidation. He almost missed the days where this would make his stomach turn with unease.
Instead what Harley felt was much, much worse than fear or unease.
The feeling was instead, his body starting to prickle awake, like that feeling when you're trying to wake up a limp that went numb. But it was actually the sensation of his hunger waking up inside him.
The sound of the men stopping the truck and starting to get out made his breathing worse, and the breath that started to filter out, left cold streaks of mist as they fell from his mouth.
If he could just run away, it would be no issue. But it was never that easy.
Harely tried his best to wash the blood out of his hoodie in the stream he had managed to find, but so far no dice. Too much had dried into the fibers to get out without a cleaner. Well fuck. He liked this hoodie.
Letting out a groan, the native dunked his head into the stream and let out a frustrated scream into the water.
Most people ran away when they saw his quote on quote "spooky eyes" as a stoner once called them, but nope. These guys couldn't make it that easy. Course not. Nothing could ever be easy for him. EVER. He had to bite a fleshy chunk out of one of the dumbass' arms to get them all to fuck off. It took everything in him not to swallow the mouth full.
The chill had started waking up again, the feeling of danger nearby, aroused the deepest depths of his frozen soul. The first blow to his head made him dizzy, and for a moment he lost his restraint on the chill, on his hunger. As they kicked and stomped on him, their voices were drowned out by the sound of it forcing it’s way to the surface of his mind, waking up his primal senses, enticing his hunger. He wished panic could have been enough to push it down, but it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.
The taste of blood made his stomach scream, but the ache gave him a moment of clarity. He didn’t waste the moment. The thing inside him was screaming at him, he forced it back down, just like how he forced himself to spit out the mouthful. The feeling of nausea and hunger wrecked his senses, he wasn’t sure how long he sat there heaving before he could stand again.
By the time he found the stream, it was already noon again, and most of his bruises didn't hurt as much anymore. Walking in the sun all day didn't leave him enough strength to run during the encounter, and it made him curse at everything under the sun when it was over.
It wasn’t the first time he was attacked. Some people seem to enjoy harassing the wayward or homeless, each time hunger provoked him. Because of THAT thing, they were food. Food shouldn’t provoke the eater. He felt stomach vial rise in his throat just phrasing it like that, but there was no other way to be so accurate.
They couldn't kill him however, not that it had worried him to begin with, but they still gave him a few nasty bruises. (Thinking on it, they had probably aimed to break skin or bones.)
Wendigos weren't that easy to kill though. But boy did people try and make it seem easy. Wendigos were short tempered, territorial and easy to piss off however, especially when hungry.
That’s why he didn’t stay anywhere long, you can't get territorial if you have no territory.
So after a few more underwater screaming fits, he sat back, took a breath, and dug through his bag for the take out box. He had already finished off the rolls during his walk to find water, this was his last good meal for a few days.
When he opened it up he found the heat damaged remains of an egg salad sandwich, browning lettuce leaves from a salad, and a hunk of rice with little containers of sauces.
It was still a good meal, even if it didn't do much for his cannibal stomach.
Comments (0)
See all