being hungry - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Being hungry is so normal since the changes. An adequate diet is a luxury for the rich. Our stomachs stay empty from sun up until sundown when we gather to share what we've found. The only rule is you don't ask where anything came from. If nobody knows, nobody can tell. Askers are informers, or so they say. What used to pass as skinny is considered normal. Folks are considered fat if their ribs don't stick out and even then it's a back handed compliment.
"Feed the hungry," that's what the old pastor used to preach. Treat everyone as if they were a dear relative. Problem is, we're all hungry now. People don't share they hoard, even if they can't eat it all before it spoils. Everyone says they got nothin,' no way to tell if it's true or not. All I know is my stomach feels like a black hole every moment I'm awake and there's never enough to quell the pain or even provide a hint of relief. Getting food is everyone's obsession, thinking of anything else is just a waste of time. Trusting anyone else is taking your life into your own hands. Every night I sit and watch a wall, listening for sounds. Everyone else does the same. There are no friends, just a few transitory allies of convenience figuring out the best way to double cross the other. Sometimes I watch old movies on the gear I rigged up, seems like we went from a world with problems but most folks had real friends to one very similar but the friends were online. From there we got to here...
How to stop hunger was the number one obsession. I saw things I can't scrub from my mind. People ate stuff that wasn't food, not caring if it killed them, only that it ended the gnawing pain. There was something about hunger that robbed the spirit as well as the body, as if in such a state the mind is unable to feel love at all. In the throes of severe malnourishment all emotions that could hinder the person's ability to fight and be selfish are switched off. Or at least that's the way it is for most. There are some that would give you their last grain of rice and a hug to go with it, but they're so rare as to be almost an extinct species.
"What is hunger?" asked the passer-by, tapping my sign with her shoe, leather so shiny I had to look away or else see what I had become. There was a time I was beautiful and loved, young and whole, not anymore. With the rattle of my inhale she took a step backward. I raised my eyes to meet her magazine perfect make-up.
"Hunger is having to fight hard to hold onto every good thing you ever were, or the pain and emptiness will walk you into a morbid quagmire of despair and darkness. The same is true for the body and the soul." She blinked and made a small smile as if I'd spoken in foreign tongue, tossing a the meanest of coin onto the damp concrete before escaping to the warmth of a taxpayer-only coffee bar.
When I'm hungry, I can't think of anything but food. I'll sit down to do my algebra donut, but my x's will turn into broccolis and my y's will turn into cupcakes! I spaghetti would like to stop thinking about food all of the cake, but I guess I'm just tofu distracted by my stomach.
My stomach growled and I squirmed in my seat to try to silence the rumbling. I glanced at the clock; there were only two more minutes until lunch. My teacher droned on, but my head was preoccupied; my eyes glazed over as I imagined the sandwich in my bag next to my feet. I was salivating at the thought of it. Only one more minute. I watched as the red seconds hand slowly completed its circle around the clock on the wall. The closer it got, the slower it seemed to go. My stomach rumbled again, and I tried to cover it with my hand. Luckily, no one noticed the loud noise. Finally, I heard the bell ring. I'd never been happier for class to be over.
I walk into the kitchen, there's no-one around. Immediately, I hear sounds, whispering in my left frontal lobe - faint voices in another language. The muffled whispers come from the refrigerator. Of course, I investigate. I am greeted by a cheery light as I open the friendly door, and feel that pleasant wave of coolness. Now, the voices are clear, and in the language from the "Land of Taste buds.” Ham grabs my nose right away, “Smell this, my old friend. Think about me on wheat bread with mayo.” The siren call of left over pound cake comes, “And you know how you love me.” She invites, “Consider my sweetness, Sweetness.” Then, a full menu parade, singing in all flavors of tasty serenade. The crescendo swells the voices up to powerful smell. “You cannot resist, because we insist that you taste some of that, and this.” I close the door as I command, “Pound cake and ham, get thee behind me. Scram!“ They turn suddenly silent, pouting inside. But I know from the growl from my digestive canal that next time they call, they win.
My stomach snarled and howled and from it came the not-so-subtle undertone of pain. It came in waves and it seemed as though my stomach was slowly digesting itself. I clutched at it, pulling it this way and that in an attempt to silence it but to no avail. It cried even louder, earning me a few curious stares. It was a slow pain, eating away at your stomach and leaving you feeling drained and empty.
When I'm hungry, it hits me hard. I'll be going about my day, perfectly normal, and then suddenly, my stomach will growl and it'll all be over. I'll rapidly morph into a completely different person, incapable of conversation and possibly of compassion, and I'll demand a breath mint, for the love of god.
When I'm hungry, no one can stand me. I'll be sobbing like some hormonal teenager, then, out of nowhere, start screaming in an uncontrollable rage. I'll be needy, start clinging onto your sleeve and crying about how sorry I am, about the universe coming to an inevitable end, and about my own grey mortality. It's incredibly disturbing and a side of me that I hope very few people have to see.
Soon I'll reach the point of no return. This is the part where that gnawing pit in my stomach spreads and twists into a cold, ruthless nausea. You'll start offering me food, because if you know me well enough to have stuck around, you'll finally understand what's going on. Of course, I'll refuse it, because it feels like someone has just stabbed me repeatedly in the gut. And the hunger keeps getting worse. It's like a never ending cycle.
The worst part is that when I get out of this trance I am usually shocked to discover that I've eaten an entire box of cookies.
Hunger is manmade. Hungry children are a result of government policies, not of a planet unable to sustain the population. We have enough food for nine billion people and only seven to feed, we have a global surplus. Hunger drives and charities do an awesome job, we love them, but they are pushing the tide back with broken brooms. For real change there has to be a sea-change in how we view and structure our world. To share is to be blessed. It is an honour to give. He gave us our world at no charge and poured in His love, what gives us the right to charge money? What gives us the right to bar access to nourishment when we have excess?
A few hours ago my stomach growled. Now it is silent. I'm past the growling point. I feel a sinking emptiness, but strangely don't feel exactly hungry. I just feel empty, like a part of me is gone and I need to get it back. I'm tired and can't focus. How is it possible that I ate breakfast just six hours ago?
My stomach growls. Next hour I have lunch, but now I have to sit through chemistry and use my brain. Ugh. "I'm starving," I say. The new kid who I am assigned to sit next to stares at me. He is a skinny, short little guy. He almost looks like he was malnourished wherever he came from. Oh. I get it now. The wide eyed stare, probably looking in astonishment at all the meat on my bones, penetrates me. My eyes meet his, and I blush, embarrassed to be so inconsiderate. "Sit with me at lunch", I say, trying to overcome the awkwardness. "I can share". I understand now when my mom says "You are blessed."