The feast was brought out at the baron’s request, of course.

Nimble servant hands placed steaming platters covered with silver domes in front of each guest. I was glad—I hadn’t eaten a thing since that morning—and my seven-hour journey to the estate had well worn me out. Looking around, I saw similar expressions on the others’ faces: watering mouths, licking lips, fingers fidgeting out of hungry anticipation. I believe I speak for everyone in that room when I say we all scrambled to remove that blasted dome from our plates the second the baron gave us his nod of approval.

But as soon as I finally lifted it, I nearly flipped the table in disgust.

The meat was a sick, slimy shade of green, and it quivered with writhing white maggots. Brown, crawling spiders blanketed the baskets of bread; thin, pale yellow, wriggling worms swam in the soup, which bubbled with something sour. The smothering, organic smell of decay choked the entire banquet room. It was beyond repulsive, and yet everyone else began to eat as if nothing was wrong.

My eyes glazed over. A squirming disgust churned in my stomach as they shoved forkfuls of rotting meat into their mouths, crunched on spiders and ants and buzzing flies. Exclaimed how good the meal was, how fine the taste. As if they couldn’t see the rot! I would have vomited right then if it weren’t for the baron’s awkward glance in my direction.

I tried to shake the others—to wake them from whatever rotten spell they were under—but it was to no avail. The woman next to me didn’t even seem to notice I was there; she just kept eating and eating and eating as dark, foul smelling liquid dribbled down her pointed chin.

“Delicious!” she cried periodically, though each time seemed more forced, until it sounded more like an agonized wail, and the banquet hall became a cacophonous symphony of such harsh shrieks. The more I looked, the more I noticed guests’ faces turning pale and jaundice, eyes dulling and dying, bile spilling from their still-swallowing throats.

And the baron, he was still watching from the head of the table, like a hunter daring his game. A sly smile sneaked across his face, and I felt my left eye twitch.

“Well, sir, aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, lifting his spoon and slurping, worms wetly flinging themselves against his lips as he did so. I stared at him, throat tightening. My mind was screaming. I could think of no way to respond, other than to get up and run for the door.

The feast continued around me after the king’s speech.

Wine was poured and food was served to every guest.

I didn’t eat a single crumb. I couldn’t.

Though the people around me smelled so good it was hard to resist the temptation of fresh blood. But I couldn’t ruin the treaty between humans and vampires. Although that is in the very near future I refuse to be the one to break it.

I could see the vampires around me struggle while watching these creatures that were once ours to feast on.

I don’t love the treaty for the fact that more vampires are starving but we can survive. We will get through. Both this feast and this roadblock that is the treaty.

The food laughs at me.

My stomach growls, wishing to be filled and put out of hungry misery…but I cannot condone its wish.

Through the silver utensils, I find my reflection, and I am reminded. I cannot eat, no, for it will only bring me pain.

“You’re doing good,” the voice in my head says. People at the table look at me with displeasure, but I do not care. They do not know— They do not understand. I have suffered enough all ready. If I give in and eat this feast of food, all the damage and pain I went through will be for nothing. I can’t—I can’t let my suffering and agony go to waste… It is better to waste this food, rather than waste my pain.

And so as clueless eyes judge upon me, I remind myself, “They do not know nor understand. Food is your enemy, so fight it and withstand its luring voice.”

I stared at the food sitting in front of me, scaning the variety of goods. My gaze snagged on Aurelius, who was giving me a questioning look, probably wondering why I haven’t started eating. I just glared back at him. He may not be the king, but Lius was surley drowning in the riches of royalty just as much as he was. I projected all of my disgust into my gaze and narrowed my brows. How could he? How could he stuff himself like the pig he was while the kingdom outside him was slowly starving to death? Just two days ago, I was stealing from oblivious venders. Now here I sit, in front of the selfish, arrogant, prick of a prince who starved half his people to death. He smirked, “If you’re mentally scorning me, you should just say it out loud so I know what I did wrong. Is there something wrong with the food?” Lius took a steamed carrot from my tray and plopped it into his mouth, chewing in a way that for some reason made me want to take the dagger that was hidden in the slit of my dress, and cut his eyes out. “Well your highness,” I said sarcastically with an edge, “it just so happens that I don’t feel like eating food that you stole from your people. Did you by any chance realize that at least two thirds of the people are going without food tonight?” His smile faltered for a moment, “Did you,” he said with a sharpness that could cut an arm off, “by any chance realize that I do not have a say in what happens in this kingdom? If you want to complain, you can take it up with my father. Just don’t come crawling back to me when you’re split open and bleeding like a fountain.” And with that, he sat up from my desk and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I was shaking with what I couldn’t tell was fear, or rage. Rage, I decided. So I picked up the tray with the steamed vegetables and meat, and tossed it in the rubbish bin. I could go hungry for another night.

food disorders eating disorders

she has small scarred wrists and scared eyes they scared me 2 i remember when she looked up at me and pushed back her hair she told me she was tired

tired of living tired of trying i kno no1 will ever understand the hurt i saw when she said she needed sleep when she hugged me bye and rocked me slow then let go and gave me her fake smile without the dimples and walked to her spot 4 the day

i watched her go with my hands in my pockets i was always so scared that she wouldn’t make it through the day

bcus life is hard but living is harder

The food’s smell weighs her down to her chair. Opening her mouth, she licks her lips as the desire to consume becomes stronger. She grabs the fork near her plate. Its prongs are sharp like a knife. Her arms move without thought, jerky in motion as she scrapes food onto her plate. A warning pops in her head. It’s said by a woman that seems so familiar to her but her mind is blank on her identity.

“One bite and bound forever,” the woman said, wiping jam off of a little girls face.

Her face. She was once that little girl. Something sparks inside of her, almost nulling her hunger. Grief. From that grief, a word is remembered. Mother. Her mother was always overprotective, warning her about creatures in forests and dangerous people with trustworthy smiles. In this particular instance, it’s a simple warning to tell a child not to take food from strangers.

A laugh rings from the table and she finds herself laughing along with them. This meal offered to her wasn’t one from strangers but from friends. Yes, she couldn’t place their names but she feels as if she’s known them her whole life. The lively energy at the table burns away any laxness lingering inside her. The desire to eat is squashed as a new desire burns within her. Dance. Her feet needed to move across the ground, moving as light as air. However, she does not move as the plate she is scraping food onto gets higher and higher.

Trying to stop, she moves to drop her fork but her grip remains tight. A glance at her arms showcases a strange sight. On both of her arms, there are patchy blotches of skin all an unusual graying color. Her mind becomes cloudy as a fog descends over the table. The only visible thing is her plate which is towering over now. Finally, she’s able to stop scraping but she does not move from the table. Her desire to dance is gone. There is only hunger.

She is ready to devour but the food on her plate transforms before her eyes. Brain. It looks like a brain. Her jaw opens wide. Wider. Wider. Until it cracks. Saliva drips from her mouth until it is a pool on top of the beautiful delectable brain.

“You can fight this,” she remembers her mom saying, no, begging. “Please!”

A tear trickles from her eye as she fully remembers what she’s become. She drops her fork. If she takes a bite…just like before then…a sickening taste spreads on her tongue. Her stomach rumbles and the gruesome hunger inside, grows stronger.

“What do you think those monsters think as they eat us?” She hears someone say.

She looks around but there is still only fog surrounding her. The sickening taste in her mouth no longer feels sickening. It feels right. It feels needed.

Brains, it’s the only word she’s thinking of now.

“I don’t think they think at all.” She hears someone reply. “Could be why they eat brains.”

“We’ll they’re definitely not gaining any insight from their meal. Look at them, all easy shots.” Someone else brags.

The fog surrounding her is clearing. Picking up her fork with all her strength, she prepares to eat. This time nothing is holding her back from devouring her delicious meal.

“Wait, this one’s still twitching!” She hears someone scream, a different person than before.

Bang. The feast was over and she didn’t have a bite to eat.

“ A toast to the new alliance!”

Clanking of glasses with small chatter erupts in the room. A soft melody wisps throughout the dining hall; soldiers and servants at their post.

Today, I’m assigned with the wine. However, the sweet, savory aroma of the roasted hog with the potatoes makes my job….difficult.

“ Servant, more wine” a satin clothed hand raises to my right, with more soon following.

I glide to each and every guest, pouring the red liquid into every cup. Not too much to be wasted, but enough to feel the effects of the drink.

More hands multiply with each passing second. For a passing thought, I think I am free from the gnawing feeling. As the night progresses, it’ll be too busy to think of the-

crash!

Food.

Beautiful, savory food.

Wasted on the floor.

“ Servant, clean this up at once!” A feminine voice chirps. She watches me smugly as I get to my knees, cleaning up the shards of ceramic mixed with the delicacy.

Being this close to the food is so, so wrong. If they see me sneak one gulp, I’ll be hanged. Slaughtered. Sold.

Every possible outcome imaginable is thrown at me, telling me not to dare put that gravy covered biscuit into my mouth. It was on the floor for goodness’s sake!

Yet, the my mouth can’t stop watering. My hand is nearly there, touching this poor excuse of wasted food.

“ Servant! Control yourself, pheasant.” A gruff voice follows.

Gulping, I clean the rest, setting the shards onto the half broken plate. I take it behind the curtain, right into the kitchen.

Cooks are scattered all around, producing the sweet and savory smells as they walk. I count nearly 20 new dishes, all ready to be fished out within a few seconds.

Right, the food.

I glide to the nearest trash can, slowly discarding the plate pieces first. The next part…

I stare at the food; it still has a hold on me.

Surely I can eat a small portion, right?

I mean, the cooks wouldn’t tell a soul. They are too busy prepping another course for this overly rich family.

No one is looking. Eat up.

I put a small portion of the half eaten pork, brining it closer to my mouth until it touched my lips.

A sharp stinging sensation charges through my face as a chubby hand strikes me awake. “Time to wake up!” The stranger said. The voice sounded as portly as the hand that brought me to my senses. “We are ready to gorge ourselves on the delectable assortment of food laid before us. So wake up and grace us with your presence.”

My vision is a blur, but steadily it returns to me, and as it does, my surroundings become clear to me. Sitting in front of me are three of the most enormous beings I have ever encountered. They all wore white robes embroidered with gold leaflet designs around the neck, wrists, and chest. Their eyes were a sickly shade of yellow and orange, with a slight protrusion due to their gargantuan size. Laborious breathing echoed throughout the dining hall in which we sat.

“Oh look, he has awoken! Finally, we can eat. I am absolutely famished. What a little shit to make us wait so long for dinner.” Said the mass sitting to my left. “Gertrude, I do believe you started well before the husk decided to wake up. I can see some grease dripping from the whiskers on your chin.” Said the figure to my right. “Bite your tongue, Bartholomew, for it betrays you as well. I can see a bit of flesh flapping between your jowls.” Gertrude replied menacingly. A shade of red flushed over his face, now giving him a likeness more akin to a swine than a man.

“Silence, you pathetic worms!” barked the third voice. It belonged to the largest of the three masses sitting directly before me. The chair beneath this man’s bulk creaked in protest, struggling to sustain its despotic ruler. Sweat dripped from the man's brow as he wriggled violently in an attempt to set up. Reluctantly, they quieted at his command and said, “Yes, Chef.” Having struggled for some time, the man named Chef was finally upright and looking at me with his eyes full of hunger and lust.

“Husk!” he said. “The hour….upon which we….have……waited so long for has come.” This time the air struggled to find its way back into his lungs as he spoke. Menacing grins dawned on the faces of Gertrude and Bartholomew as the words left his thinly pursed lips. “You see, we don’t often have dinner guests to host.”

This time his breath flowed more calmly, allowing him to croak the words rather than harshly exhale them. “I am sure you are wondering how you came to be here in our great hall?” he said excitedly. In truth, I couldn’t remember where I was or how I had gotten here.

The fog clouding my mind still hadn’t lifted, which caused more questions to pop up. However, I couldn’t bring myself to move or to speak. The side of the table I currently find myself is far away from the three hosts. A fire blazed behind the man known as Chef lighting up the far side of the dining hall.

All feeling or sensation is seemingly non-existent throughout my body, which gave freedom for fearful thoughts to take hold. “Would you like to know what we will feast upon tonight, Husk?” Chef said. “TELL HIM…AL..READY!” Gertrude exclaimed. “Very well then.” He replied.

With that said, the beast of a man began to slam his bulbous paws on the table. Shadows begin to stir about the room, revealing frail, grayish-colored servants with the appearance of all pleasures deprived shuffling towards the table, lighting candelabrums as they did. Now I could see a table covered in sliver dishes with domed lids covering this night's menu. Slowly the miserable beings removed the tops, revealing a host of body parts cushioned with all manor of greenery.

“Husk, we humbly thank you for providing us with nourishment.” Chef bellowed. My chest was now heaving violently as my breathing became sporadic. Now my memory starts returning, and suddenly I’m aware of how I came to be here. I had been taken from my village after leaving the local tavern. I hadn’t made it more than ten steps from the front door before I had been struck from the shadows. I blacked out. I have no idea how long I have been in this place held captive, but I know that I shall never leave its confines. One of the gray servants appears at my side and places a mirror before me.

The horror of my appearance ripples through me in agonizing astonishment as I gaze at my mangled and disconnected body, but no words can leave my mouth. Looking at my reflection, I now see why I can’t move or speak. My mouth is sewn shut so tightly I can’t open my lips enough for air to escape. Around my forehead, I can see a thick leather strap bound so tightly that the skin presses up around it. Small pieces of jagged flesh exist where my ears should be. Unable to shift my head and unable to see beyond the natural movement of my eyes and peripheral boundaries, I struggle to see what remains of the rest of me. I feel like I should be able to move my arms or stand, but nothing happens.

“I think I will start with his tongue; I love tongue, especially one so recently harvested,” Gertrude said. “Oh yeah, well, I want his balls. Such a succulent treat they are.” Bartholomew replied. “Husk, it must be so terrifying for you to see yourself in such a way, hmm?” Chef asked. “Do you know what I crave most of all, Husk? It is by far the tastiest part of any creature. I can’t wait to rip out your heart and shred into it with my teeth. No fork or knife necessary, simply my teeth.” He said. I want to fight back, to get up and run away, but I cannot. The will to go on is futile without the means to carry out my desire. They keep calling me Husk, and now that I can see my body cut up and distributed across the table I can see how I am no longer a man. My eyes burn as tears attempt to escape from their ducts, but nothing comes out. Likely, a symptom of dehydration or perhaps because my body is no longer whole.

I want so badly to be free from the hell I currently find myself in. The thought of death remains a terrifying notion; even in my poor condition, I still crave to be free and live again. The idea of living is quickly brought to heel by the motion of Chef being assisted up from his chair by the gray ones.

With the help of his servants, the man now stands as tall as he is wide at the end of the table. Every inch of his body trembling beneath the weight of his grotesque mass. Slowly the man makes the seemingly impossible journey from his side of the table toward mine. How much more can my heart withstand before it ruptures? As the blob of a man comes closer, I can smell the stench of sweat, grease, and rotten flesh permeating from him. My throat swells from the stench, and suddenly my body attempts to heave as the smell overwhelms what senses I have left.

Finally, a tear finds its way out and begins falling down my cheek. At last, the man known as Chef stops at my side. I notice one of his hands disappearing into his white robe. He rummages until he finds what he is looking for. I watch as a sharp dagger manifests. “Any last words, Husk.” He says while laughing intensely. Knowing I can’t say anything, he raises the dagger, and begins to cut the stitches sewn into my chest. With my heart exposed he reaches in and plants his grubby hand on my heart.

My thoughts and fears begin to fade away. Then a burning sensation overtakes me as he rips my heart from its frail enclosure. Indeed I am a husk…….

Charles silently stares as the crowd devours their food, he looks at his watch, It shouldn’t take long.

Maurice lightly pats Charles in the back. “Come on Charles , why aren’t you dining with us?”

Charles looks at him, beady-eyed. “I’m not very hungry” Maurice shrugs ,” first time I ever hear you say that”, are you feeling ill ?”

Charles shook his head, although yes, he was tempted by the warm invite of the promising looking food, he knows better.

the hosts cat scavenges for scraps under the table and notices Charles’ impatiently swinging bag, it attacks it and a small bottle falls out ;his heart stops as he lunges for it, he looks around , but everyone is too distracted to notice anything.

He hastily puts it back into is carrier bag and shoos the cat away, when all of a sudden one of the guests stood up and groaned “ I don’t feel very good..”

that guest went limp and collapsed on to the table . The guests go silent, and the host goes over to check the body, no breathing, no heartbeat, nothing.

The hosts white face looks up in fear ;his eyes traveling across the room in search of whatever could have done this.

Maurice jumps up in fear “someone should call the medics!” Which caused a chain reaction of cries for help. The room was littered with fear and amidst all the shouting, another guest had fallen.

I got too lazy to finish the rest😕😕

“Well? Go on.” Kyrina nodded. “You have no reason to be afraid.” Lies. Valerie clenched her fist, her nails digging into the palm of her hands. Everything she was saying was a lie. But no one would believe Valerie if she said so. It’s always been like this. Since she was a child, Valerie could see people’s emotions. Though when she tried to explain, nobody listened. In fact, her mother brought her to a therapist, in worry that her daughter had suffered some kind of trauma. And Kyrina’s aura was a dark yellow, a sign of malicious joy. That was dangerous. “Enjoy!” The large acacia double doors shut behind her. Cautiously, everyone started reaching for their utensils, stabbing at the steaks and potatoes. Valerie, however, didn’t move an inch, her eyes darting around nervously. BAM. A chair fell over, followed by two more, and the sounds of crashing. Two bodies rolled to the floor, dead. Screams. Yelling. Shouting. Crying. But it was no use. In no time, everyone was dead. Everyone, that is, except for Valerie herself. The doors opened once more. “There,” Kyrina pointed at the only person still left alive, trembling. “It’s her.”