Don't Starve

Starvation

Wilson's POV:
I clamp my hand on my stomach as it makes a longing growl for food. I haven't eaten in so long. Maxwell has cursed me with a long famine. I hate knowing that I need him to provide for me. I treat him as if he is some higher being, but the truth is, that for me, he is. Without him I would be dead and with him I wish I were. I hate him.
My stomach growls again, breaking me from my concentration. I fall over with the pain. I'm withering down to nothing and all I can hear is Maxwell's voice whispering in my ear Don't Starve. I growl. Something deep inside me, my sanity, begs me to keep walking. Instead I am urged by the voice and I turn around to this baron wasteland. I want this never ending circle of horror to end here and now. My stomach growls and I grit my teeth. The pain brings tears to my eyes. I drop to my knees and slam my hands into the ground. The soil is moist and soft. I'm thankful for that, because for a moment there I wanted to hurt. I wanted nothing more then to rid myself of my starvation, and since their is no animals around, I needed to distract myself. I hear a distant thud sound, like someone beating on a door or wall. As it approaches, I realize my first theory is incorrect. It's not a pounding noise but more of a flapping. Like a bird's wing. I look up and right overhead is a beautiful creature. It's wings outstretched and it looks magnificent, but more then that, it's something I can eat. I watch silently, begging it to land. To get close. Just close enough so that I can catch it. As if my prayers were answered, the bird descends. I wait, stand as still as I can and beg my stomach not to growl. To hold off and wait for this meal. I hold my breath as it lands. It's barely twelve feet away from me. Not close enough to pounce, but too close to sneak over without it noticing me. The birds jumps around on the ground looking for a meal. Good luck. I move slightly, barely moving myself at all. Although I do make it quite far. I stop three feet away from it. I could rush it from here or at the very least try to pounce it. It hops around anxiously on the ground. Maybe it found something. I watch it cautiously. If it escapes... I don't know what I'll do. I get down on my stomach and crawl just a few inches more. I'm so close to the bird now. I'm almost there. My stomach howls. It's tune deep and long. I bite back fowl words as the bird's head twist towards me. It's beady eye falls directly on me. I don't move. I don't even breathe. It looks the other way and I shift my knee underneath me. My stomach growls again, but this time I'm prepared and I pounce on the creature. I get my hands around it and it turns to black smoke. I look around me. There is no sign that the bird ever even existed. I taste bile in the back of my throat. This whole world makes me sick. I hear the flapping again, in the distance. I ignore it, but this time it changes. The drawn out beats of wings to turn into laughter. It's drawn out and harsh. I look at the empty sky above me and I laugh too. I can't help it anymore. My life is just one long pathetic existence of never ending torture, so I laugh. I laugh with Maxwell and the voices in my head. I grab the side of my head, yanking out fistfuls of hair. My laughs turn into screams. Screams of pain. And lost. And hurt. Then I just stop.
"What's happening to me??" I whisper to no one other then myself. I close my eyes and squeeze them shut, like that would somehow help. I don't want to open them because I fear what I might see. Maybe I will be sitting up in my bedroom, sweet sliding down my face. I would sum this up to be a bad nightmare and what I ate for dinner last night. What had I eaten the night before all this started? The night were nightmares turned to reality. I probably didn't eat then, too busy on my work to focus on my needs. I open my eyes when I realize my nails are still dug into my scalp. Blood drips slowly down the side of my face. Nothing serious, just a drop or two. I wipe it off before noticing a gleam in a small thicket of grass.
I stand, weak on my knees. My stomach lets out a cruel growl. I forgot that I was dying of starvation. It seemed just just go away along with my sanity. Then again, maybe I was insane before I started dying. I weakly walk closer to the gleaming object, curious and what it was. My stomach begs for my attention. A sharp pain runs in my stomach and I'm tempted to fall over and give up right there. Instead I keep walking. I knew deep inside me, that this was going to be a big mistake. I finally reached the grass and looked down. There, half buried by sand, was an ax. At first I only saw the head of it. The curve of the metal and the smooth surface. I got on my knees and unburied the handle, which was worn. It still looked usable and I began to wonder where it came from. I ran my fingers down the ruff wood when I remember something. Willow had taken my ax the day she left. How long ago was that a week, two weeks; I had lost count. This must be mine. My stomach growled again, this time soft and excited.
Then an idea came to me. At any other time it would have scared me. Right then, however, I took it into consideration. I smiled weakly and my stomach hummed, welcoming my new plan. I got up and looked around for the closet bolder. One laid about five feet away. I dragged myself over to it and rested my right hand on it. Then I debated, maybe it should be my left. It was sore from being pulled out of socket. I choose the right one. I raised the ax over my head. I wonder how many times it will take. I wonder if I should cook it or what I would make my new one out of. My heart was pounding and a bead of sweat fell from my eyebrow. I hesitated.
"Come now, Wilson. You won't miss it. Besides you can always grow a new one from science." I said to myself. The words sent shivers down my spine. It didn't matter. I slammed the ax down right on my wrist. It make it right to the bone and I could see it sticking out. It didn't even hurt. My hand twitched and I lifted the ax again. Slamming it down harder. It cut through the bone. My hand stopped moving. It was hanging on by just a thread of skin left. One last cut. My hand was clean off and I threw the ax to the side and looked down at my severed hand. I couldn't eat that. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. Blood was rushing out of my arm and going everywhere. It was on my clothes and face. With this much blood lost I would be dead soon. At least one good thing came from this.