Ame Perdue

Epilogue

He had forgotten what starvation felt like.

The more time went by, the harder it was to push away thought of when he would be able to eat next, if he would be able to eat next. He had been imagining the different things that he would cook, picturing himself making his favorite dishes. It was all clear in his mind. He pictured that merger portion of water he had was a broccoli cheese soup, the flies serving as the slightly crutching vegetables. He could see it, could almost taste it.

He pictured himself in his large kitchen, going through the spices that he had so carefully organized and labeled. He imagined pulling down the ones he required, even going as far as to log it into his phone that he needed to buy more nutmeg. He wouldn't measure out the spices, he preferred to add them slowly and tamper with the recipe as he required. A recipe couldn't capture the perfect balance of spices the way that his taste buds could.

It would take him a few extra minutes to wash everything thoroughly, but he wouldn't save the time for anything. It was an extra step that he was used to. He was ever watchful as he pulled out the chicken he had cooked the day before, slicing off a large chunk of meat to add to the soup. Although he himself wasn't a vegetarian, he was extra careful to avoid having it touch anything that would be used for the vegetarian dish. The chicken would be the last thing that he added to the soup, only after he saved out enough without meat.

There was a smile on his face as he pictured making the meal that he had made so many times before. Cooking both vegetarian and nonvegetarian had become second nature to him; it was how he had learned to cook. He had never not prepared both dishes. He remembered that at first, they had a separate set of pans to use for the vegetarian dishes. Pans and cutlery that no meat would ever touch, just to be certain. That had been done away with a few years back, after the local vegetarian learned about it and deemed the entire idea completely idiotic.

The man had to admit that using just one set of pans and separating the meat was far easier than cooking both meals entirely separate.

Everything was so clear in his mind. He could even hear the soft hum of the appliances as he cooked, from the buzz of the microwave to the insistent beeping of the fridge when he didn't close the door all of the way. He could smell the spices as he poured them, hear the gentle pop as the milk in the pot slowly came to a boil. He even imaged a slight haze above the pot of steaming vegetables, as annoying as it was when it fogged up his glasses. He pictured everything that he could think of adding to it. It was the perfect fantasy.

He could almost taste it instead of the crisp water. At first, he had thought that the water he was sipping tasted off; in fact, he was certain that it was drugged. It had taken him a few hours to realize that it was the opposite. To realize that the water he was drinking tasted off because it was clean of the chemicals he was used to drinking. He had forgotten over the years what clear water tasted like.

When he had first seen the water, he had been disgusted by the bugs floating in it, but he wasn't stupid enough to pick them out. Instead, he drank them with the water. The little bit of fiber didn't do much for him, but he couldn't afford to waste it. No matter how unused to the idea of eating bugs he may have been. He forced himself to include them in his little fantasies. Forced himself to believe that they were a piece of the meal.

He knew that he shouldn't have been so disgusted by it, and over time, some of the disgust had worn off. He had no right to be picky, he wasn't in a position to be picky. He knew that bugs were a good source of fiber, there were people that ate bugs every day. Even people who didn't know it ate bugs. Most people around a pound or two a year smashed in with their food. The bugs were a normal part of his diet. He had no reason to be disgusted by them.