Hunger
Day 1:
The first signs are unmistakable. Your stomach empties, leaving a sharp ache that makes it hard to think. You become irritable, lightheaded, and unable to focus. Your blood sugar plummets, leading to physical weakness and mental sluggishness. Fatigue creeps in, heavier by the hour.
Day 2:
Hunger fades in and out, but the decline in energy is constant. The body enters ketosis, breaking down fat for fuel. Dizziness and nausea set in. Movement becomes exhausting. Holding a thought becomes a challenge. Headaches begin—dull, persistent, and hard to ignore.
Day 3:
The sharp edge of hunger dulls, but it's not improvement—it's deterioration. Fat loss accelerates, and your body starts catabolizing muscle tissue. Even slight exertion feels disproportionate. The cold becomes harder to bear as your body begins to chill. Your emotions dull, and your thoughts grow foggy. Standing up too quickly risks collapse.
Day 4:
Your body is now breaking down muscle to survive. The self cannibalism eats indiscriminately, your arms, your legs, your chest, your heart. You begin to feel faint, confused, and disconnected from your body. Your immune system plummets, and your organs begin taking on extra strain. You're weakening in every measurable way.
Days 5-6:
Glycogen reserves are likely depleted. You may not feel hunger in the traditional sense anymore—just a persistent physical and mental emptiness. Refeeding syndrome becomes a concern. The body, in its malnourished state, is no longer prepared to handle normal food. If carbohydrates are consumed, insulin surges and electrolytes are pulled into cells, destabilizing blood chemistry to a dangerous degree.
Week 2:
You begin to feel extreme fatigue and drowsiness. You're assailed with hallucinations as your emotions dull. You begin to feel cold all the time, even in warm rooms. Your heart weakens and slows, and your hair begins to fall out in clumps. Your feet and hands begin to swell from a lack of protein. Your kidneys and liver are under extreme strain at this point. And the lack of electrolytes in your blood pushes your heart to the brink of failure.
At 2 weeks without eating, food becomes lethal.
As you take that first, long-awaited bite, your starving body launches into overdrive. Insulin floods your bloodstream in response to the sudden carbohydrate intake. Triggering a chain reaction as your cells, desperate for energy, drag glucose in. But, as a side effect, they also pull in phosphate, potassium, and magnesium from your blood.
Your blood chemistry plummets.
Your heart, already weak and malnourished, begins to misfire. Unable to beat without the electrolytes it needs. The muscles across your body begin to seize and cramp, including your diaphragm. The bite doesn't even make it down your throat before you're on the floor, gasping. Your liver and kidneys struggle to process everything.
A catastrophic chain reaction.
And soon, fluid begins to fill your lungs. You try to cough, but find yourself unable to. Your diaphragm is immobile. Your brain, now swelling, sends out panicked misfires—tremors, confusion, then unconsciousness. Finally, your heart fails.
How ironic.
Your demise comes naught from starvation, but from the nourishment you so dearly need.
++++++
After picking out a suitable target, I enacted my plans.
I pretend to leisurely walk by, making sure not to give a single glance toward the food stall so as not to arouse wariness.
And then.
Like lightning, I snatched the closest thing I could get my hands on. The texture was sort of rough and pleathery. I knew I'd grabbed something that wouldn't be pleasant to eat, but—
"—You!" The street vendor leapt from his chair and grabbed a stick-like object. Which made me reconsider taking more time to grab something else.
I bolted, gripping onto the object in my hand like a lifeline. I ducked, pushed, and shoved my way through the hordes of people.
Women screeched, and men cursed.
I had no idea what I grabbed, but I pray it's at least edible.
Fueled by my empty stomach, I forced my tired legs to move and ran like the wind. My lungs burned, legs ached, but I persisted, even after the angered shouts of the street vendor faded into the background noise.
I ran.
Dipping into the alley, I could finally take some time to examine my lunch.
Examining the item in my hands, a tear fell down my face. And my stomach, though light as a feather, dropped.
"A raw… Potato?" I muttered, stunned. Each word came out like tumbling boulders falling onto my feet.
It should be edible… Right?
I mean, it was food...
Technically...
Probably...
Hopefully...
Somewhere, within the recesses of my memory, I remember potatoes being poisonous if eaten raw.
Or was that just the green ones?
But what if it wasn't poisonous?
I wasn't sure. How am I even supposed to eat this?
In the end, I'd never get to find out. As it turns out, dipping into this particular alleyway had been a mistake that would cost me my lunch.
As I lifted the potato to my mouth, a young voice rang out from deeper within the alley. "If you're not going to eat it, why not hand it to us?"
It was a voice I'd soon learn to loathe.
A boy stepped forward, a couple of years my senior. A makeshift bandana was tied tight around his head and slung casually over his shoulder, a rusted metal pipe.
"Saint Lyria says we should share our spoils with the less fortunate," he added, his tone theatrical.
Saint Lyria? Who the hell is that?
My questions vanished the moment two more figures emerged from the dark. Three kids total. Including the one with the pipe.
I should have run, I could have run.
But I didn't.
My knees locked.
My feet rooted to the ground.
I couldn't move.
Couldn't even look away from the pipe.
A pitiful "hiek" gave way from my throat. Not loud enough for those three to hear, but loud enough for me to know I wasn't man enough to try and fight three against one.
Still, I had to put up a tough front. My meal depended on it.
Mustering up my will to act tough, I bark back, "N-no," plain and simple. My hold on the potato tightened. I haven't eaten for almost an entire day. I wasn't losing my meal if I could help it.
They didn't respond. Just stepped closer.
Which, somehow, was scarier.
My throat tightened, and my mouth dried.
"Gulp."
What should I do? I've always been a sheltered city-slicker—I'd never thrown a punch a day in my life. I never knew conflict or street smarts.
I came from a well-off, loving family, alright?
"W-wait—why don't we share it?" I offered, voice trembling. My voice didn't come out as I'd intended. It came out too fast.
Too desperate.
Too fearful.
Shit…!
I essentially just told them how weak I was.
I tried to rationalize with myself, going through dozens of simulations where I could get out of this potato in hand. But I came to realize very soon it was incredibly futile. Inside, I may be an adult, but the reality was that I was in the body of a kid. A weak, short, homeless, hungry child.
And that's when I understood.
They weren't going to negotiate.
They were going to take.
Before I even made the decision, my body acted on instinct.
I dropped the potato and ran.
++++++
The next thing I knew, I was back at the shrine. It seemed like they didn't follow me.
Thank god.
My legs were so wobbly they felt like jelly. I didn't have the endurance for this. My legs were skinnier than a twig. Barely more than skin and bone.
"Haaa…" I exhaled shakily, slumping to the floor and letting the adrenaline drain from my body. As the adrenaline drained, the pain began to intensify, aching sensations that were numb to me prior suddenly bloomed.
Every muscle in my leg throbbed.
I'm going to be oh-so sore in the morning…
But worse than the pain was the shame.
I had run, tail tucked between my legs. Like a bitch, like coward, like a man who wasn't worth his salt. I wanted to curl up and die. To melt into the floorboards and vanish.
As I lay there, allowing myself to process everything, feelings of shame festered into anger.
As I sat there, without warning, I grabbed my head and shouted, "Ah! Fuck! How fucking dare they! Those fucking brats I hope they choke on a fucking shoe!"
Expletives began pouring out of me uncontrollably, all the while indignantly flailing around like a dying fish on the shrine floor.
My voice cracked, and my throat burned. But I didn't care.
The screaming felt good. Therapeutic.
Before I knew it, I began to entertain myself with fantasy.
laying on the dilapidated floors, staring into the ceiling joists, I fantasized about beating the crap out of those 3 snot nosed brats.
"Hahaha…"
Hollow.
The laugh escaped from my lips before I could stop it.
I felt pathetic.
Weak.
Diminutive.
The shrine, at this moment, felt infinitely—
small.
++++++
It seemed, sometime last night, I'd dozed off.
And unfortunately—
—Growl~
The problem with my empty stomach had yet to be resolved.
I'm really starting to get sick of this.
Not to mention, my legs hurt like hell. They also felt weak; walking down the two steps to get to this water basin was a bit of a challenge.
However, as I was looking at myself through the reflection of the water basin that seemingly never drained, I came to an epiphany.
"With my cute face, I bet I could garner some loot from begging," I announced to the squirrels before taking a swig of water.
The squirrel didn't bat me a glance. Much like everyone else in the world.
"Blrhghgh!" I shook my head, trying to chase off the negative thoughts.
Morale was important in tough times. I had to keep my chin up. To not disparage.
Anyways… I'm sure there's at least one kind-hearted person here. After all, kindness is a virtue and it doesn't cost to share what you have in abundance. In a sea of evil, there's at least 1 selfless soul out there… Right?
The first order of business is to tie my old rags into an impromptu bag. Which I can then use to store whatever I get from begging. Eventually, I'm going to need to figure out some way to make a living normally. But that's a later problem to solve when I'm not hungry.
After all, it's hard to brainstorm on an empty stomach.
The idea of begging made me feel physically ill. I remembered, in my old life, I'd scoff at the occasional homeless person begging for spare change or cigarettes.
"I'm glad that's not me."
And here I am, starved, poor, and desperate. I was willing to beg, if it meant I'd get to live some more.
And so, I set forth in search of a begging spot.
++++++
5 good hours have passed since I began begging. It took me a while to find a spot, around 2 hours, but I eventually found one. It was on a fairly traveled path, and it was in the shade. Perfect.
A part of me foolishly wondered why no one else was out here begging as well.
I'm an utter fool. I wish I'd become aware of that fact earlier.
I very quickly found out why no one else was begging. And it was simply because—it didn't work. As the hours passed, my hope dwindled. I was foolish, thinking that a new world that I knew nothing about would have the same values and virtues as mine.
For the first 2 hours, I'd constantly ask for food, spare change, anything. But instead of people taking pity, they kept their distance. Trying their damndest to avoid eye contact.
Treating me like some…
Detestable.
Gross.
Heinous thing…
Eventually, I didn't have the voice or energy to keep begging, and I allowed my head to loll forward.
More hours had passed, and no catch. I felt like a desperate fisherman fishing in a poisoned lake.
Until suddenly, I felt a shadow loom over me. A sense of excitement rushed through me as I raised my head to thank the kind figure. Not even having looked at my basket, for if he deposited anything.
My stomach dropped. A sensation I was starting to get used to.
It was the vendor I stole a potato from. He wore an eerily amused smile on his face, like he'd just found a fun toy.
Sensing the imminent danger, I jumped up and tried to scramble away, but my proximity and sore, tired legs had made escape impossible.
Bam!
He grabbed me by my wrist, pain shooting up my arm, before yanking me and slamming me against the wall I had been resting my back on just seconds earlier.
"You little sewer rat," he hissed. "You think you can just take? From me?"
He yanked me back and then shoved me against the wall again—harder. The back of my head smacked the wall. I saw flashes behind my eyes. My feet floating in the air, my collar stretching beyond its capacity. My body began to buzz. It was as if I were being disconnected from the world.
The basket I'd used to beg with, kicked by his feet, tumbled to the ground, empty.
Of course it was.
"You've got some guts hanging out in the light!" His voice carried—booming now.
"Have you no shame?" He laughed.
He pressed his forearm, still grasping onto my collar, against my chest, and pressed my back to the wall. My small stature made his fatty, hairy arm seem humongous as it ran from my clavicle to my pubic bone.
"You stole from me!" He yelled and half-mocked. "And now you think you can sit here and beg for pity?" I could hear a slight rumble—a chuckle—in his voice.
Amusement. He found this amusing. Fun.
"N-no, sir!" I choked, my eyes growing wet.
My mouth opened and closed, like a fish gasping on dry land.
I tried to force more tears from my eyes. I need to put on a performance, make people—or maybe him pit me. Keep him from hurting… Or even worse—
"You think people owe you their food? Their money? You think because you're filthy and pathetic that you're entitled to handouts?"
"N-no–" He grabbed my face, keeping my mouth shut, forcing me to look at him. His breath smelled like pickled onions and vinegar.
Snot and tears alike ran down my face in streaks.
"You weren't crying when you stuffed that potato in your robe like some clever little thief." He spat.
I began crying, sobbing loudly. Trying my best to draw pity from others.
But they walked past.
None stopped.
One woman even turned her face away, clutching her purse closer.
As if I were the danger.
I looked toward them, pleading. Eyes wide, watery, begging not for food this time, but for someone to say something.
Nothing.
The vendor slammed the back of his hand into my ear.
"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING, VERMIN." He shouts, nearly screeching.
His shouts turned incoherent—or perhaps it was just me.
I feel myself tuning out from the world, hiding away in my mind.
His shouting turns intelligible.
Distant.
He begins to shake me, his spit spraying all over my face.
"Ughguuuu!" My words became equally incomprehensible, drowned out by the shaking and my dramatized crying.
However, somewhere deep down in my soul, I knew—
I wasn't dramatizing anything.
My heart was slamming against my ribs, and my skin turned pale and clammy. No actor, no matter how skilled, could do this.
"You should've just given yourself to the Goddess instead of trying to steal from me!" He continued, yet I couldn't hear any of it. Sounds became muted and muddy, like someone was covering my ears with a wet rag.
The world seemed to slow. His shaking gets more violent. He could tell I wasn't mentally checked in anymore, and that angered him.
Why? What is compelling this man to do this to me? What did I do to deserve this? Every day, he gets to stuff himself till the fat falls off him in folds, and yet I can't even enjoy a single raw, dirty potato?
Was this guy going to kill me?
For that reason?
Seriously?
For real?
I shut my eyes, clenched them.
I prayed, prayed to any god out there. Prayed that they would save me.
Suddenly, the shaking stopped.
"Oh?" The vendor's voice lit up.
And my despair, prayer, and sobbing were broken by his awe and a noise.
a jingling,
a clinking,
a rattling,
a tink.
Coming from my neck.
The very neck, the vendor was eyeing—
With greed.
"P-please don't…!" I begged, struggling against his hold on my collar.
"This…" He says, tentatively sticking his other hand down my collar, "Should cover for the potato."
He smiled.
My Pendant.
"No–no!" I can still sell it for food. It's the only thing I have on me that's worth anything. If I lose this, I officially won't have anything to my name.
Fueled by desperation, I thrashed.
I kicked, I wailed, and I hit.
Bam!
My foot struck the base of his legs, the place no man would want to damage.
His face contorted with pain as he dropped me. He hunched over, gripping his groin in agony.
The hold on my collar was released.
And for the third time since coming to this world, I ran like the wind.
[CH END]
(Author notes: "Was he really going to kill me for a succulent, Chinese meal?" - I was tempted to write that in. Also, if you like my piece, please support me! A supportive comment is more motivating than a thousand likes! But likes are nice too... Ratings as well...)