Venison

Alert children and a hungry giant.

It was a boy last time. He screamed when he passed my room, an aroma of burnt chocolate in the air. I saw him only briefly through the small window in the door, though I could hardly reach. He was tall, thin, and pug-faced with a crooked nose and small, bloodshot slits for eyes. He was stripped in the hall and injected with a long, metal syringe throbbing with something acidly yellow. He fell. After he was hoisted onto the back of a much larger man, I never saw him again.

 

The lady in white and grey slacks told me that I was going to be thirteen in the upcoming days. She asked if I would like anything special this year. I asked if I could know my name - she declined. I asked if I could know her name. She smiled and declined. There was pity in her dull, done-up eyes. Her efforts of distraction lulled my mind away from names and I was promised a marvelous chocolate cake.

 

I also asked if I could go outside of my room. Avoiding eye contact, she declined.

 

I was brought meat and nuts later in the day for supper. I ate everything. I was always hungry. I asked for more frequently and sometimes they brought another bowl. This time they didn’t. My stomach growled hoarsely, but I didn’t tell them. There was once when I did tell them, but they had none to spare for the day; I was already plump " much less than the other children, though, I was told. I would be “too thin”, they said, “for it.” Something about a worm kept slipping past my room, but I had nothing at all, I was sure. Not a worm " nor any gnat " ever entered my room. I asked about the worm and the man with the false teeth cooed, “Nothing to worry about, my dear. But the giant wouldn’t be happy to know a worm was around.”

 

Three days passed. The woman and the man with the false tooth made me sleepy.

 

I awoke several hours later in my bed " my stomach sore.

 

I called for someone " screamed " and one came. She brought me three helpings of meat and citrus fruits. I cried as I finished eating because I did not feel hungry anymore. I was fed well enough.

 

The lady said the giant would soon come to claim his meat as well, for he has been very hungry, too.

 

I know, just like the boy surely did, that I was the meat. I said nothing of it, but my quietness caught the eyes of the woman with the white and grey slacks, her eyes pitiful and nervous. She knew about me, too.

 

I never knew my mother, but I liked to think sometimes this was her. I wondered if she would miss me after I leave. One day, I cut my own arm open, right at the elbow. I called for her. She came " she stared and then called down the hall for someone else to come help me. It seemed she didn’t care much after all. It was unattached pity.

 

I slept uncomfortably that night. I awoke on my own before dawn. I cried. I walked around my room and felt as if I could not breathe. I tore a patch of my hair out. I cried again, but attempted to control my heart better. I could breathe again. I sat to the wall, near my mirror, and rubbed furiously at my knees and legs. I fell asleep again there on the dusty floor. I felt pain in my ribs.

 

I woke again in my bed " a three-story, slightly burnt, chocolate cake presented itself atop a gleaming, golden tray. The old man with false teeth and my sad mother were there, smiling. He looked ugly. Mother looked very pretty. They wished me a happy birthday.

 

They also gave me a white dress made of a smooth and shiny material that clung warmly to my skin. It made me feel very hot and made my hair stick out in all directions as I pulled it over my head. I looked at myself in the mirror and realized the bones at my collar were no longer there. I was fed well enough that they disappeared beneath my skin again. That made me happy. Mother said I looked nice and, at that, I was very happy all over again.

 

Mother ate with me and braided my hair in parted pairs down the center of my back. She had to leave soon.

 

Today was my birthday.

 

Hours later, as I finished the last of my cake, Mother came in again and stared at me. In her hand she had a similar syringe to what was used on the boy. I was sat beneath my window, the room darkened. I looked up at her. She commented on my braids, which I had undone and let stick to my face with fresh sweat and tears.

 

“Come now,” she called.

 

Mother’s voice was sweet and soothing, but she was flanked by two people I could not make out in my dark room. I rose to my feet, barefoot, and wiped my sloppy cheeks with the backs of my hands. I reached the doorway, then looked back at my room. Something was missing. Without me, I hoped this room would vanish as well. Without me, this room would not exist. I liked that very much. I thought about that all the way down the hall and to the great doors.

 

Mother was not there when I turned to give her a hug, but I was not alone.

 

Reviews

[Riley Justine]

A serious page turner. Really well written, it was absolutely amazing!

[SLOVA]

Thank you, Silent Raven. I'm thrilled you like it.

SLOVA

[Jack Wolfe]

I saw him only briefly through the small window in the door, (though I could hardly reach). Omit as it doesn’t help, nor does it say what you’re reaching for, the door?

He was tall, thin, and pug-faced with a crooked nose and small, bloodshot slits for eyes.

He was tall, thin, and pug-faced; he had a crooked nose and small blood-shot slits for eyes. (I would omit one of the adjectives to avoid clustering, either, small blood-shot eyes, or, small slits for eyes.)

I awoke several hours later in my bed " my stomach sore. (--my stomach sore?)

A very good and chilling concept for a story, the young child being raised, prepped, and harvested to appease the appetite of a giant; I also like your transition from care-giver to substituted mother, a great internal conflict, especially considering the pain of being led to your death, looking for the one person you hoped cared for you wasn’t there . . . an emotional dagger. The problem with the story is you’re telling the story, thus the emotional impact lacks substance. Try and show rather than tell your stories, get behind your character’s eyes, write it as if your were them; rather than, ‘I was told’, show the woman entering the room, the dialogue exchange; exposition is okay in small doses, but avoid giving me (the reader) list of events.

I hope this helps some, if you have any questions feel free to ask.

[free will]

I like the descriptiveness in the way you write, it kept intrigued wanting to know more about the situation. Keep up the good work :)