Fiction: GORGED

By Lilith Olivia Peckens
arttimesjournal March 16, 2019

We sit across the table from him while he gorges himself with steak, potatoes, slices of turkey and toasted bread soaked in gravy. His belly protrudes far on his lap and almost to his knees. His face and hands are covered in grease and crumbs. Through bites of food, he judges our character and actions. He looks down at us from his great pedestal and twists nails into our hearts.

What kind of man is this? Is it to be called a man? Shall we, for present purposes, call him an "it?" These are questions to which I hardly understand the answer.

All I know is that I am hungry. My belly aches in protest, but I do not dare to take a single bite of the food that is laid out before me. "It" will surely disapprove of the distraction. We must all listen to his sermon from beginning to finish without as much as a mumble about how hungry we all are.

We number twenty-two in all. Every one of us hasn't eaten in days. We all stare at the food that sits in front of us, longing to silence the screaming of our stomachs.

"It" asks us why we are all so down-trodden while he gorges himself with burgers, fries, a milk shake, and fried chicken.

"What is wrong with you? You all look down while I speak to you. You're all engrossed in that which lies in front of you rather than what I am telling you. You all sit there like corpses. You have all lost your purpose in life and. What is your life worth if you are not listening to those who are your superiors and learning from them? What worth do you have if you have not the decency to compliment a fellow man with your attentiveness?"

We all tried to lift our heads towards "it," so that "it" may finish with "it's" sermon.

More time passed. We suffered a great deal in the time that followed. Within a few hours, one girl grew so weak with hunger that she fell asleep. Her face fell into her plate, which was empty. We have yet to even have the opportunity to put food on our plates.

"How absolutely rude! Do you all find my speech so boring that it should send you all to sleep? How absurd! Do any of you have manners enough to allow me to finish making my point? I will always be made the selfless ass in these situations. I am confounded. I will always be the one to force a human effort to make points without ever having been heard. It is not like I have been giving a church sermon. These are simple lessons that I am trying so hard to teach all of you. Why do none of you listen?"

This topic drew on for a few minutes more until "it" was drawn into a different subject, which suited "its" fancy. The state of the human race, and all of its deficiencies. He gabbled on about how he could see these faults in people as clear as day. He could see those faults in each of us. So, came the examples. Twenty-two stories about how each of us were just like the rest of "them" in this world of corruption and sorrow. "It" kept talking through mouthfuls of cake, ice-cream, pie, and mouthfuls of whipped cream.

One by one, people dropped off to sleep, weary in their hunger. I only held on by a thread. Every time someone else fell asleep, "It" would repeat the same sermon. Eventually, someone got up the courage to speak to "It."

"Will you not allow us to eat a little while you speak to us?"

"Why would you ask such a ridiculous question? How rude is it to allow the distraction of eating while you should be listening? All you would hear is the chewing of your food. Also, why would you even dare ask? Are you too much concerned in your own comfort to worry about mine?"

"It" threw a glass which had a milkshake (though "It" had consumed all the contents) at the wall. The sound of the glass shattering into thousands of glittering pieces woke all those who had drifted off to sleep. Everyone flinched at the quick act of violence.

A person moved to clean the mess.

"NO! YOU WILL SIT AND LISTEN TO EVERY WORD I HAVE TO SAY!"

Needless to say, we are all still here, listening to "It" speak and watching "It" gorge on food that we may never have.

Is this hell?