Hunger

Just about a dude who has the ability to see people's death and pain and feel it, and he is able to take it away from them, but he then has to bear it himself. To get rid of it, it must be passed on.

Where is the beauty in the world when you fell like you are the only one living, or more accurately, existing? When all feeling is gone and the only thought left is the hunger and the longing to feel again.

On this night, I can feel their energy, their life, their emotions. I can fell the anger or hunger eating away at me, it feels the same. There's a pain, a hurt, a clawing its way out of my chest, ripping and shattering all happiness and humanity from me.

The feeling becomes more real as the charcoal black lines engraved on my arm grows and burns to the side of my chest and neck, fully engulfing my left arm. There is the sight of their pain, their death, screaming its way into my head and I fall to my knees clutching my ears, begging and crying for the voices to stop, to leave me alone. I appear next to the victim of my master, Death.

Cancer has infected his body and I can almost smell the rot that has begun to consume him. The wretched foul odor of human flesh liquefying and forming puss that spews out on the bleached linen underneath. The breaths are fading now and his family cries as they hold his hand, waiting for him to pass. Another wave of pain rushes through me and I fall, tears falling down my cheeks.  When it finally subsides, I climb back to my feet, oblivious to the world of the living. I just want it to end. I sit next to the man, his vision slowly passing from the world of the living to the dead, my body coming into his sight. It only takes a simple touch, a graze. Wiping the tears from my face, I take hold of his hand and feel the rush as the affliction passes from him into me. The lines grow further, screaming at me to stop, to let him go. I hold on until the pallor color on his skin warms to a soft pink, and the puss is dried to memories.

The scene fades and I am back in my room, shaking and sweating. Huge pustules of bacteria forms on my skin and explodes, smearing my skin in a thin film of grime. I fall to my side, clutching my side and vomit. White insects crawl from the clumps and scavenge my flesh. Burying themselves within me once more, parasites feeding off of me, but to my avail, I am immortal. I can feel blood leaking from the inside of my mouth and the taste of iron following it. There is so much pain, but there is a sense of relief to it. The only thing I am able to feel. The only thing that has ever existed for me, and I lie there gasping for the air that never comes.