The world was dying, bit by bit, swallowed by hunger and fear. Rody Lamoree leaned against the cracked window of his decaying apartment, watching the skeletal figures shuffle through the streets below. The air outside was thick with rot and the metallic stench of blood, barely disguised by the heavy smog that hung low over the city. It hadn’t always been like this. There had been a time when food was plentiful, when people weren’t desperate enough to eat one another.
But those days were gone.
He hadn’t eaten in days. His stomach gnawed at him like a feral beast, and his once steady hands now trembled from hunger. Prices had skyrocketed beyond reason, even for the smallest scraps of food. But tonight, Rody was going to eat. He had made the decision that so many others had before him. It was the only choice left.
The flyer in his pocket crinkled as he pulled it out again: **Cheap Human Meat - Fresh, Available Now.**
He hated the words. Hated what they meant. But survival came first.
The shop was dimly lit, nestled between crumbling buildings. Inside, the air was thick with decay, the smell of death hanging like a shroud. Rody approached the counter, stomach twisted into knots, and forced the words from his dry throat.
“I need… meat,” he said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
The vendor didn’t look surprised. He disappeared into the back, and when he returned, he wasn’t alone. Dragged by a thin iron chain was a young boy—frail, almost emaciated, his skin stretched taut over his bones. His black hair was a tangled mess, his clothes torn and dirty. He looked to be barely older than sixteen, but the starvation had hollowed him out, leaving nothing but the remnants of what had once been a person.
The boy stumbled, his thin legs barely able to hold him up. His eyes were wide, black, and glistening with unshed tears. Fear radiated off him like heat, and his entire body trembled as the vendor yanked him forward.
“This one’s cheap,” the vendor grunted, shoving the boy to his knees. “Won’t last long, but… he’ll do.”
Rody stared down at the boy—his heart twisted in his chest at the sight of the boy’s vulnerability. The young boy’s breath quickened, and tears began to spill down his dirt-smudged cheeks as he looked up at Rody with wide, terrified eyes.
“P-please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I don’t… I don’t want to die.”
Rody felt a pang deep in his gut, something cold and bitter that mixed with the gnawing hunger. But he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. If he hesitated now, if he gave in to whatever shred of morality he had left, he would starve. He handed the vendor the money, more than he could afford, and the boy was thrust into his arms.
Back at his apartment, the silence between them was suffocating. The boy lay crumpled on the floor, still shaking, his breaths shallow and ragged. His thin arms wrapped around his frail body as though trying to protect himself, but there was no strength left in him to do so. His eyes never left Rody.
“P-please…” the boy’s voice cracked as he spoke, desperation bleeding into every syllable. “Please don’t kill me. I—I’ll do anything. Please…”
Rody swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He hated this. Every part of him screamed that this was wrong. But the hunger gnawed at him, sharper now, and he knew what had to be done.
“I’m sorry,” Rody said quietly, his voice hollow, as he grabbed the dull knife from the counter. “I don’t have a choice.”
The boy’s eyes widened further, his fragile body trembling harder. “N-no, no, please—” he sobbed, his voice rising in panic. “Please, don’t! I—I don’t want to die! I don’t—” His words dissolved into broken cries, his body curling up on itself as though trying to make himself smaller, disappear.
Rody’s hands shook as he approached, his larger frame easily overpowering the frail boy. The boy screamed, the sound raw and full of terror, as he thrashed weakly beneath Rody’s weight, his skeletal arms flailing in a futile attempt to push him away.
Rody’s breath was heavy, ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he raised the knife. He had to do it. He had to.
The blade came down, slicing into the boy’s side.
The boy’s scream tore through the apartment, piercing and broken. His body convulsed beneath Rody, and blood began to pool around them, warm and thick. The boy’s hands clawed at Rody’s arms, his nails digging into his skin, but he was too weak. Too frail. His strength was gone.
“I’m sorry,” Rody whispered again, though he knew it meant nothing.
The boy was pleading now, crawling weakly across the floor, trying to pull away, trying to escape. “Please, I’ll do anything! I—I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!” His voice was cracked and hoarse, his body shaking with fear, pain and exhaustion.
But it was too late. Rody’s hunger had swallowed him whole.
He moved quickly, lunging forward to pin the boy down, his larger frame easily overpowering the frail figure again. The boy screamed, the sound raw and full of terror, as he thrashed weakly beneath Rody’s weight, his skeletal arms flailing in a futile attempt to push him away.
Rody’s breath was heavy, ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he raised the knife again. He had to do it. He had to.
The blade came down again, slicing into the boy’s stomach.
The boy’s scream tore through the apartment, piercing and broken. His body convulsed beneath Rody, and blood began to pool around them, warm and thick. His hands clawed at Rody’s arms, his nails digging into his skin, but he was too weak. Too frail. His strength was gone.
“I’m sorry,” Rody whispered again, though he knew it meant nothing.
The boy’s cries slowly faded into weak, broken sobs as his body went limp beneath Rody. His wide, tear-filled eyes stared up at the ceiling, lips trembling as he whimpered softly. “Please…” he choked out one last time, but the fight was gone. His body was cold and still, save for the faint, shallow breaths that came less and less frequently.
Rody didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His hands were slick with blood as he worked quickly, slicing into the frail body beneath him. The air filled with the sickening scent of raw flesh, mixing with the sharp tang of fear that still lingered in the room. But Rody’s mind had gone numb, his thoughts drowned out by the primal hunger that drove him.
By the time he was done, the boy was nothing more than a hollow shell, his body butchered and torn apart. Rody stood over him, panting, staring down at the blood-soaked floor. He felt empty—hollow—but he couldn’t stop now.
He turned to the pot, throwing the pieces of flesh into the boiling water. The smell of cooking meat filled the apartment, rich and tantalizing, making his stomach churn with anticipation. He stirred the pot, watching the flesh bubble and hiss, his mind distant, disconnected from what he had just done.
When the meal was ready, he sat down at the table, staring at the plate before him. The meat was tender, perfectly cooked, the smell intoxicating. His hands shook as he lifted a piece to his mouth, his mind screaming at him to stop, to realize what he was about to do.
But the hunger was too strong.
He took a bite, the warm, rich flavor exploding in his mouth. It was unlike anything he’d tasted in months—satisfying in a way that made his entire body feel alive again. He chewed slowly, savoring each bite, feeling the warmth spread through his veins, filling the emptiness inside him.
He ate, and ate, and ate.
When he finally finished, he glanced back at the remains of the boy, his butchered body still crumpled on the floor, his dark eyes wide and lifeless, frozen in fear.
Rody felt nothing.
He would need more soon.
