Vigil Read Free

not pain.
    Instead, I said, ‘Hungry.’
    Words became speech. I mumbled. I was still chewing. I liked the way the word sounded, even so.
     
    *
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
    Romania  
    Base of the Carpathian Mountains
     
    The small hut burned behind me as I stepped out into the evening air. My legs shook with the effort and I walked unsteadily away from the chattering flames and the brightness. The fire took hold of the straw of the roof and ash floated in the night sky. The moon was high and the fire was bright. It hurt my eyes. I could see everything so clearly but I had to screw my eyes up to keep some of the light out.
    I was in a small clearing in deep woods. The hut, house, abode, dwelling, cottage was the only structure I could see…I wasn’t sure which. There seemed to be too many words for places where people lived. There was a small stream trickling through the woods, a sliver of silver in the undergrowth. Its banks were high with weeds and plants I had no names for. I walked toward the river and pushed aside the weeds. They made me itch but it was nothing compared to the pain I had been born into. Kneeling in the muddy bank and watching a shimmering , shifting reflection of myself in the water I could almost believe I was alone in the world. The fire behind me crackled. The warmth reached my back and as I took the water in my cupped hands I felt icy cold and fiery warmth from both sides. It was a pleasant feeling.
    I washed the blood off and stood for a moment, listening to the sharp crack of the timbers burning, the crashing as the weak walls of the house caught fire, then the roof, falling in. I picked each sound out with my ears because it was too bright to watch, even though I wanted to. The sounds were delicious, as was the smell, wafting on a mild breeze, of roasting meat. But roasted meat tasted of ash. This, a memory surfacing. Some part of me knew that there was much I had forgotten. I shrugged. The taste of flesh was still in my mouth and my belly was full, and that was enough for now. I smacked my lips and licked around my teeth, hoping to find some small morsel stuck in a gap.
    But, no. My meal was over. Any meat left was burning in the house, inedible now. Thinking of it was making the hunger come back. Thinking how there was nothing to eat. No people. The hunger wasn’t as strong now, but it was there, gnawing away at my thoughts, making me sway.
    I shook my head to clear it. I didn’t work so I walked into the stream and dunked my head into the chilly flow and emerged, gasping, but wide awake and better, clearer. With my hands I rung the water from my long hair and shivered a little in the sudden cold. I should go to the fire to dry off, but being closer to the fire would hurt my eyes. There was enough light to see by. There was nothing for me here. I needed to find more meat. I was hungry.
    I walked for three days following my meal. My legs were weak, at first, even though my arms were strong. Both legs were bent and there was pain as I walked. When I caught a fox that was snarling and protecting its cubs (vixen, the word was vixen) my legs felt better. I ate the fox after it bit me, but not because it bit me. It was just hungry like me. The fur was disgusting, but I discovered I could tear the fur clear to reveal the meat underneath. There wasn’t much meat on it, but it was sating my hunger. I ate while the cubs mewled and yipped, nipping at my shins and thighs as I sat. It sort of tickled, even though they were playing rough and drawing little dots of blood with their sharp teeth.
    I ate them, too, but there wasn’t much point. There was hardly any meat on them, and when I’d eaten them they didn’t tickle me anymore. It made me sad, but I understood now that to eat was to take away the pain. When I eventually stood, wiping fur and blood and flesh from my face, my legs were stronger, straighter. The pain from my legs and the hunger, too, were gone.
    The hunger soon