Meat Family

Chapter 10

The second mistake

The poets mistakes

"You... You're lying," Brock gasped. He stared at the blonde woman before him with wide eyes, too shocked to say anything. His ancestor... Hunter... ate people? No, that couldn't be true. Who would do something so horrific? He had never heard of such a thing; how did Esmeralda know about it?

"Where..." came from Brock's mouth, but he stopped when Esmeralda's shimmering pink gaze met his.

"I'm just a storyteller," she said gently. "I follow rumors and sift through the truth amid the lies. If you really want to know the truth, ask your family. They are the only living proof."

The icy air brushed against Brock's skin, making him shiver. He stood in front of Esmeralda's small hut, his back to the door. With a half-nod, he left the house, eager to get away. The scent of lavender was becoming suffocating, unbearable.

He wandered through the empty paths of the village, his mind still grappling with the words of the blonde woman. "Hunter fed on his own kind." Were those words really true? The only way to find out was to ask his parents. That would be more difficult than he thought...

"YOU." Brock was jolted from his thoughts as someone grabbed him by the collar and glared at him with bright eyes. Ramón. "What are you doing here, abomination, in this holy place?" The orange-haired boy opened his mouth to respond, but Ramón continued to threaten him. "Are you here to abduct more people!? You repugnant cannibals!"

"What are you talking about..."

"BE SILENT!" the old man shouted, and Brock felt his grip tighten. "You should have perished with the monster! You are a plague! Your entire bloodline is a servant of evil; you helped kill our beautiful Aurora and nearly plunged the world into nothingness. One day, there will be retribution. One day, I will end your entire line."

He threatens US

Brock heard a whisper in his head, he knew that voice too well.

He's insulting your family. Shouldn't he pay for that?

Yes, he should. The orange-haired boy felt the fire flaring up in his chest, anger.

Yeah, show him what a monster you really are.

Brock made his hands into fists, the emptiness in his stomach growing bigger and bigger. Soon it will be filled. Soon he won't be long for food. Soon- emptiness.

That familiar emptiness enveloped him. He stood in the black void.

Panic rose in Brock.

"No no NO! T-this can't be happening now!!!" he cursed and looked around in panic. Why so soon? He wasn't even in pain this time. How could that be? He had to get out of here somewhere. Then that sweet smell burst into his nose, food. He saw the wooden table with a freshly served plate. He could literally hear the meat cooking and the delicious juices flowing down. Drool formed in his mouth and the hunger in his stomach drew him to the table, but Brock resisted.

Not again. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

He ran.

He ran away from the table.

Away from the danger.

But the smell was getting stronger, he wanted to bite into the meat, he wanted to let the taste pass on his tongue, but he couldn't. No, he didn't WANT to. Not again.

Then a tremendous pain came over him in his stomach and made him fall to the floor. The hunger intensified, destroying his stomach. Brock doubled over and screamed in pain, the hunger pulling at him. Hunger wants to be satisfied.

"Stop! Please," Brock begged, tears forming in his eyes, wishing he was back home in his bed and had never gone to that damn village.

"Stop!!! STOP!!!"

Brock's scream echoed in the dark void, his voice raw and desperate. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat like a drum of impending doom. The familiar emptiness that had always haunted him was now consuming him completely. The hunger was a ravenous beast, gnawing at his insides, demanding satisfaction.

But he fought against it with every ounce of strength he had left. "No, not again," he whispered to himself through clenched teeth. "Not again. I won't let it take me."

The dark void seemed to pulse with his hunger, a twisted reflection of his internal struggle. He tried to push away from the imagined feast, but it was as if invisible chains held him back. The more he fought, the stronger the pull. It was a battle of will against primal need, and the line between sanity and madness blurred with each passing second.

The pain intensified, a searing agony that shot through his abdomen and left him gasping for breath. Tears streamed down his face as he curled into a fetal position, his body wracked with sobs. "Please," he begged, his voice a broken whisper. "Just let me go. I don't want this."

But the hunger was relentless. It wasn't just a physical craving; it was an insidious force that gnawed at his very soul, whispering promises of relief and satisfaction, mocking him with its tantalizing scent.

In the midst of his despair, a flicker of defiance ignited within him. Brock knew he couldn't give in, not now, not ever. He had come too far to let this monstrous hunger consume him again. His resolve hardened, and he forced himself to focus on his surroundings, on the fading echoes of Ramón's threats, on the need to protect his own humanity.

With a shuddering breath, he forced himself to stand, fighting against the oppressive darkness. "I won't be controlled," he declared aloud, his voice gaining strength. "I won't let the hunger win."

He took a step forward, then another, his movements shaky but determined. The void began to recede, the scent of the meat fading as he willed himself back to the reality of the village. He had to face Ramón, confront the danger, and most importantly, confront his own demons. Own curse.

Brock's vision cleared, and he found himself standing back in the dimly lit village street. The cold night air was a harsh contrast to the suffocating darkness he had just escaped. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and turned to face Ramón.

But in front of him stood Miguel, but not as he knew him. The calm demeanor and warm smile were gone. Miguel's posture was tense, he was trembling, and he held a dagger in his hands. He stared at Brock with a brave look, but his lips were quivering. Why was he holding a dagger? What had Brock done?

"What got into you?" Miguel asked, astonished. Behind him lay Ramón, completely still, not even a tremor.

A shiver ran through Brock. Warm blood stained his hands. Memories returned, of Justin's empty eyes staring into nothing. His body began to tremble—had he killed Ramón? Had he made the same mistake again? He saw the lights of the houses turning on and people sleepily opening their doors.

He had to leave. As far away as possible.

So he ran. He heard Miguel calling after him, but he ignored it. He needed to get out. Just away.

He ran through the village, the lights around him growing brighter. He was becoming dizzy; it couldn't be true that he had made the same mistake. How could he make things right this time?

He had ruined everything. He had destroyed everything.

First, he had taken Justin's life, and now Ramón's. The village would never forgive him. His family was in danger!

"WOAH!" Brock yelled as he stumbled over a root and landed hard on the forest floor. Reality came crashing back, and he was now in the woods. The lights of the village were barely visible in the distance.

He had to get up. He had to go home, but his body wouldn't move. Brock didn't want to. Shame, doubt, and failure overwhelmed him, causing him to collapse on the cold ground. Shaking, he curled up and cried. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Why him?

Why couldn't he lead a normal life?

Why...

why...