I ate until I was full. And then I ate some more. Who knew when another chance to eat another prey would arrive? I was lucky the others were consumed by hunger, unable to even figure out a simple mechanism. To enter the metal hunks, one had to pull on the handles. But why didn’t the first handle work? Maybe there’s another mechanism that keeps it shut. Or perhaps it was broken. Yes, the simplest reason is usually the correct one. That was a famous saying from before I lost my memories. I don’t know why I remember it. Maybe God said it. He seems pretty famous.
Now that the hunger is gone, I can think clearly. I don’t know when it will be back, but I’m certain it will. Why am I certain? I don’t know, but I am. Perhaps it’s knowledge retained by my body. While I’m still lucid, I have to secure a steady food supply. I can’t let hunger consume my thoughts. I’ll turn dumb like the others who’re still clawing away at the metal hunk. If I leave this here, someone might eat it. But I can’t take it away. It’s too large, too heavy for me to move. Even if I could move it, I wouldn’t get very far before the others smelled it and stole it from me. Then I have to leave it here. If I’m hungry, then I can come back and, maybe, it’ll still be here when I need to eat it. I don’t like taking chances, but it’s the only thing I can do. Perhaps I can take away a piece of it to save for later. But I have nothing to hold it with.
A bag. I can hold a piece with a bag. The prey had one over here. How do I open this? Zipper. Compared to entering a metal hunk, this is a lot easier. I pull up—it opens. I pull down—it closes. But there’s already things inside. Food? No. At least, not food for me. What is this card? There’s numbers on it. I like numbers, or I think I like numbers? Before I lost my memories, was I very intimate with numbers? I feel like I was. Should I keep it? No. For now, the only thing that matters is preserving food. If I lose my mind from hunger, then there won’t be any more numbers ever. Nothing in the bag is eatable, but that doesn’t matter. I can store food now. But how do I transfer the prey from there to here? My finger nails still haven’t healed. I can’t rip the prey; it’s too tough. Mouth? Yes, that seems to be the only way.
Even when I’m not hungry, the prey is tasty. The liquids ooze deep inside of me, reaching my stomach, stirring the hunger, but it’s still asleep. Good. I must’ve eaten enough for now. I should quickly fill this bag and leave. But do I have to leave? Why don’t I stay here and wait? I can wait until the hunger arrives again. Then I can eat. No one can take my food if I’m here to stop them. Yes. I’ll do that. I’ll wait here for the hunger to come. How long does it take for the hunger to awaken after falling asleep? I’ll count the seconds. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Fourteen thousand four hundred thirty-two. Fourteen thousand four hundred thirty-three. Fourteen thousand four hundred thirty-four. Fourteen…. It’s back. Those painful tendrils are extending out of my stomach again. How long can I last before I devolve into one of them? One of the others who are still clawing away at the metal hunk. I can’t see them anymore. Their dried blood covers the glass, but I can hear them, scratching and scratching. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Seven thousand forty-seven. Seven thousand forty-eight. Ate. Have I ate? I have to eat. The prey is cold. But that doesn’t matter. The hunger doesn’t reject it. But ... I can tell it’s losing its freshness. Soon, I won’t be able to eat it anymore. It’s not obvious. But I can taste it. Hints of rotting after every swallow. Like the meat I found in the streets. Rancid. Disgusting. The foul odor is getting thicker with every bite. The prey is completely cold now. It’s looking at me. Looking at me? Disgusting. It tastes disgusting. The prey groaned, but it didn’t move. Is it still alive? It’s … like the others. Like me. When a prey is killed but not completely eaten, it becomes like me. Then I, was I killed and eaten too? Is that why I lost my memories? The prey begged God, and God brought it back to life. Maybe God brought me back too. For what? I don’t know, but God must exist. I will find him and ask. Who was I? Why did he bring me back?
I’m lucky I ate enough to stave off the hunger before the prey turned into someone like me. I can still think clearly. Can I still eat the food in my bag? No. It’s rotten. How disappointing. Before I lose my mind to hunger, I have to find prey. I should keep the bag. It might be useful later. It’s easy to hold too. To exit the metal hunk, I have to pull the handle. But the handle is outside. There’s one inside too. Does it work? Yes. The others’ groans and moans flooded the inside of the metal hunk. I climbed out. Not even seconds later, the others pushed me out of the way and swarmed inside. The groans stopped. That’s right. There’s no more food. I ate it all, but they were too dumb to realize how much time they wasted. If I end up like them, I won’t be able to find God. If I don’t eat, I’ll end up like them. If I don’t have food, I can’t eat. To find God, I have to have food. And I already know where to get food. Over there, in that building with the glowing sign. The convenience store.