Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71314 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Callie
I am so hungry. It’s a ravenous feeling that consumes the core of me. Escaping the lab was easy in the end. I left a mess, but that’s not really my fault. I took some clothes off some of the people, so I don’t look like I just escaped a secret lab. I also took the cash they had on them, so I’ve got enough to do a few things.
I’ve found my way to a small town not that far from the very secret laboratory. There’s not much here; a church, a garage, and a diner, all arranged around an intersection. It seems like a nice little place, but I don’t think I am going to get to enjoy it.
I go into the diner, take a seat at a booth, and smooth my hair down. I try to look sane, and not like I just escaped from an asylum.
“What can I get you, honey?” A lovely older woman comes up to me with a pad and paper, ready to take my order. God, I love that there are places you can go and people just ask you what you want to eat and they bring it to you. It’s honestly somewhat magical. We don’t appreciate simple things like this.
“Steak, please.”
“Sure, honey, and how would you like that?”
“Raw. I mean rare. Very rare. Just make sure it’s not mooing anymore.”
She gives me a disapproving look, tinged with a bit of humor. “I could just bring the meat tray out here and let you do your thing if you like,” she says.
“Sure, do that,” I reply, making the joke immediately real. “Please, actually do that.”
“I can’t do that, honey, that’d be a health code violation.”
I laugh, as if it was a joke all along, as if I was just playing with her, as if the mental image of a tray of raw steak just sitting there under plastic isn’t making me salivate at the very thought of it. I guess this is just what being really hungry is like. When you’re privileged like me, you don’t ever really get to know what true material suffering feels like. I guess I’m learning now.
“Eggs too, please,” I say, trying my best to be normal.
“Sure, and you want those poached, fried, or also raw and in a glass?”
“Raw in a glass, ma’am,” I say. “It’s a whole diet. I’m sorry. I know it sounds mad, but it’s really all the rage up in New York.”
That’s the clincher. Soon as I mention my bizarre preferences being rooted in some big city bullshit, she is instantly prepared to not only lose interest in them, but to accept them. I wish I had known that saying things were popular in New York was such a social get out of jail free card before now. I’ve got to remember that, because I intend to keep being generally weird.
She goes off to get my meal, and I sit back at the booth. Starving.
One minute ticks by.
Another minute follows.
I feel like my body is dissolving itself.
The people at the table next to me get up and leave.
I notice their plates aren’t completely clean. One of them left a whole mass of bacon rind, and the other only half ate their toast. No sooner do I notice these things than my belly is full of bacon rind and toast.
“Uhhhh… you really shouldn’t eat off strangers’ plates. It’s unsanitary.”
“Waste not, want not,” I say, invoking another conversational trap card.
The waitress—Laura, her name tag says—slides me a plate of steak and eggs. They’ve all been cooked, though the meat is rare and the yolks are runny. The whole order took less than three minutes to put together, so I can’t really complain.
I start eating, first with knife and fork, but I quickly drop them because they’re annoying and just grab the barely seared meat with my hands. Juices from the kill drip down my chin and I make a sound of perfect satisfaction as the taste and texture of meat finds my mouth.
I open my eyes, and see that the waitress is giving me a look of real concern. I’m acting strange, even to someone who sees all kinds of strangeness day in and day out.
“Sorry,” I say, swallowing. “I was vegan for ten years, so… This is like… you know. Forbidden fruit.”
She gives me a tight smile and walks away. I’m not technically doing anything wrong, but that doesn’t really matter at times like these. Sometimes, just being a bit weird is enough wrong for anyone. I can tell I’ve creeped her out. Maybe I should take my bloody steak and half-cooked eggs and go.
I take another bite and stop worrying. This is good. This is what life is all about. I spent years eating polite little bites of very reasonable food, but this is the first time I feel like I’ve really eaten, consumed like an animal is supposed to.