Flash Fiction 1: Feed

     Have you ever skipped lunch and found yourself with a killer headache and the shakes? Were you just busy or could you not afford to eat the "standard three meals a day"?

     I've done that. As a freelance artist some months are tighter than others. That's how I refer to it. "Tight" or "Lean" but I avoid using words that refer to what it really is: "Hungry."

     When the Hunger Games movie was about to come out I managed to pick up the first book on sale while visiting family. It touched a cord of familiarity and my Brother and Dad both borrowed the book and for lack of a better word 'devoured' it. They then bought the rest of the series which we all read as quickly as possible. I would not recommend reading all Three Books in a month like we did as it was rather nerve wracking.

     "You said 'familiarity' what do you mean?" you may ask.
     Well, what I mean is I see freelancing a bit like the Hunger Games and the fact that Katniss, the main character of the series, realized she could survive off the land made me realize that even if things went down hill I could do that myself. It made me realize I wasn't crazy for thinking about nabbing a squirrel during those 'Lean' times.
     I haven't by the way, nabbed a squirrel, bird, or other piece of the wildlife around my home, but it's comforting, in an odd way, to know that the little morsels are there should my work not cut it.

     What am I going on about? Well, I wanted to give you a little weird background information on this weird piece of flash fiction I wrote today. Why didn't I write something sooner? I've been busy working on things so I don't have to go rid the trees outside my house of birds.

     Please enjoy this odd piece of Flash Fiction. Next installment will also be Flash Fiction and probably the next few as well as I am short on time as of late.
-Sarah "Neila" Elkins

=========================================================

Feed

by Sarah "Neila" Elkins

    It's hard to think about doing much of anything when one is hungry. There's a point where even the most rotten decaying four week old garbage smells enticing. Your body starts to crave what it needs and somehow you know that is liver, raw fish, or fresh greens from a garden. Any sight of blood, real or in art trips your subconscious and you begin drooling. You hunger like a zombie and need to feed.

   It's terrifying.

   Unsettling.

   Worst of all it's distracting as hell. Especially if you work from home.

   So you sit, slowly typing your words. Slowly moving your brush on the canvas before you. You try to compensate for the gentle shaking of your hands by making multiple lethargic movements with your pencil in your sketchbook. Your head continues to pound with a headache that dances between a dull ache and a mild roar. Your body goes into this primordial mode of survival, concerving energy so that you can forage or hunt, as you sit surrounded by modern technology, art, and refinement.

   You need to feed.

   As you sit in your home, unable to afford to buy meat or anything remotely resembling proper nutrition you begin to pick up on all the creatures outside your window. Trees are brimming with birds, squirrels, chipmunks, lizards...life. You begin to think about how it's the right time of year for there to be eggs in the little cardinal's nest near your drive way. You start to wonder how many lizards it would take to make a good soup and if you can season it with bullion cubes your long deceased Grandmother left in the cabinet. Are those wild onions growing at the edge of the yard or some sort of poisonous day lily? There are so many birds. Constantly jabbering. Mocking you.

   Will you need a sling shot?

   Can you catch one of the noisy birds with your bare hands?

   How long do you need to cook a sparrow?

   You need to feed. They're all out there. Little morsels fluttering around the leaves and branches. Skittering around the bark and rocks.

   So you sit. Working. Trying to keep your eyes from the window.

   If another day goes by...you decide...you'll do it. You'll have a feast. The trees will be silent. More birds will fly in eventually and your mind will finally be clear to focus on work. No one would need to know. You could dispose of the feathers in the trash. Burn them in your fireplace. Use them in a craft project. Try to remember to avoid killing and eating any of the protected species.

   How many sparrows are in the trees?

   Then...you check your email for the millionth time and...it's there. The fifty dollars you slaved for two weeks to earn. A weight is lifted and you go to the store immediately. You're careful. You buy the necessities you need and make sure there's plenty of meat, broccoli and potatoes.

   You feed.

   The birds outside rejoice.

End.