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Friday Fiction: Hunger

FridayFiction

Hunger clawed at his mind. It gnawed through his empty vessels like poison, fingers twisting uncontrollably across the wooden seat where he sprawled. The long fingernails clawed at the wood, deep grooves revealing the lighter inner splinters below the polished mahogany. He cast his eyes across the large empty room towards the window where the crescent moon shone. The light filtered through the fluttering rags that served as curtains, once thick crimson drapes now grey threads that barely kept the moonlight at bay. From beyond the veil, raucous laughter filtered in and out in drips. The village celebrations keeping the populace out at the height of night ensured that the man’s hunger abated not.

“Insolence!” He roared into the chamber, his voice bouncing back from the cold bricks that had become his abode. “Long since they cowered before me and now they jovially perambulate in the darkness. Have they forgotten me? Forgotten that the night belongs to me?!”

The voices seemed to laugh as reply, and with hunger grating at his fraying skin, anger became a welcome veil over his old promises. No longer was he to prey upon the poor sods in the village below but perhaps it was time to re-establish his presence in their midst. Honour and guilt obscured by the growing starvation and building wrath, he staggered to his feet. Lugging his frail body to the master bedroom, a chamber he’d promised never to enter again, his eyes guided him through the darkness to the standing closet spanning the length of the far wall. From within he withdrew his finest clothes and shoes, ambled his way to the disused vanity dresser and extracted his grooming kit. In the dark he ripped off his tatty gown to drape on his garments, slid on the uncomfortable dress shoes, removed a silver blade from the grooming kit and with practiced ease, sheared his facial hair. Without the woman who once shared his home to ensure he was fully presentable, and the mirror unable to yield anything had he looked into it, he ambled out of the room. The gloom of the mansion passed through him unnoticed as he descended the stairs, through the hallway that resounded with clacks from his shoes and into the large kitchen where moonlight streamed through to reveal the dust covered floor. He would have easily swung the large oak door with a simple thought, but weakened and tired, he reached for the knob and grunted to push the door open. The cool night air swept through him, sending his locks ruffling across his face. The noise carried with the wind, the merriment evident in the hushed dissonance of the ongoing festivities. From beyond, he heard the quiet bleat of sheep, no doubt forgotten and unattended. He stalked towards them.


Working on a little something here – quite difficult considering it’s a Historical Fantasy and there are certain words and phrases I’ve never used before nor find it necessary to use in this modern era. Nonetheless I hope you enjoyed it. It’s short but… so too is life. *drops mic*

Also, my character’s biggest flaw is hunger and a smidgen of loneliness: https://rachelpoli.com/2016/08/12/time-to-write-show-your-characters-biggest-flaw/

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About Nthato Morakabi

Nthato Morakabi is a South African born published author working as a Junior Technical Writer for Everlytic and a freelance writer for Gamecca Magazine. He has published his short stories both internationally, and locally, hoping to publish a novel in the near future. He is an avid read, inspired blogger, and an aspiring digital artist.

3 responses »

  1. Fine writing (as I have come to expect from you, Hon).

    Reply

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