Food For Thought

So I sit with Sidney for a while in the hall until the voices die down and we peek out from underneath the table cloth. Sidney’s stomach rumbles and we laugh. Then the cold fear bathes me again. The feeling of something being very wrong. When was the last time I ate? Shouldn’t I be eating?

“Are you hungry?” Sidney asks, as if to underscore my thoughts. I give myself a moment to think about this.

“No,” I reply, almost wistfully, looking at the polished floorboards in the hall. I glance down it as Sidney speaks again.

“There’s food in the kitchen if you want.” Looking back at the spot where she was standing, I see only the sweater. Shivers creep up my spine and I pull it back on then head downstairs.


Hannah’s father gave a start as his wife awoke him.

“Rough day?” she gently inquired, handing him a plate of scrambled eggs with ketchup for dinner; just the way he always ate them.

“I just can’t seem to get anything done during the day,” he mumbled.


That smell, I know that smell.

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