Hungry

I looked at my plate. She had left it out for me. I had spent most of the night walking in the rain.

My shoes were wet. Squeaking. I liked the sound and ground my toes on the rubber. Made my feet laugh.

I had stood outside the front door waiting for her to let me in. There was no doorbell. No knocker. She had sensed I was there. I heard her soft, bare feet coming down the grimy carpet to the hallway.

We no longer needed to switch on the lights. We have done this all before. It is a fine, exhausting dance of two empty people rattling through the early hours.

I walked in darkness to the plate. To the dining room table with the silent radio and pile of lists. I wondered what it would be like to eat in the light. In the daytime. When the rest of the world was awake. I wondered what it was like to eat at all.

I sat there for half an hour. Drying out. Nodding my head towards the food. I thought it polite. One last shred of my humanity to sit and look at what she'd given me.

When I thought she was no longer listening I stood and left the food untouched. Left my belly as empty as my head. I sat on the floor near her bed and waited for morning.