Hunger Calls

by Vivian

As a child, they could not keep me from that cupboard.
During nights when the air is still, so dead you could hear a pin drop.
A slight crack in the door and out peaks a little eye.
The hinges scream in tune to the sound of floorboards moaning.
I float past those sleeping doors. As if one wrong move will make the floors disappear beneath me.

The glass cupboard towered over the marble counter–a high rise for a man trying to scale up the windows with no rope.
My stomach demonstrated a whale’s mating call, piercing the dead silence with a wretched rumble. Wincing, I clenched my stomach.

Searching around, I hugged the square box left over from careless cooks. I relished the cold metal handles that sent thrills down my spine. An overcast hung over the neighborhood as hazy light illuminated through the translucent curtains.

I savored the sight of dim colors that lit up as stray light struck the treasure inside the cupboard. I grabbed the smooth plastic bag, wrinkled with a stretchy soft texture. I unzipped the red ridges at the top to have a piece of what I came for.

I sink my teeth into the sweet, chewy consistency as it sticks to my mouth and warms my tongue. I eat what Tantalus could not. I yearn to relieve the desire and thank the darkness for keeping my secrets.

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