Hunger

I don't remember when it began. I don't know where I am when I am not here. I don't know why I am nor why I must do what I do. I only know the hunger when it comes. And how to sate it.

It is always night, not just any night, but darkest night. The moon is always absent. I don't know how I know what the moon is, or that it is in the black sky sometimes lighting the world with its cold gray light, but I know. I can taste the thing I crave and I can feel myself. I know I am hidious, a form made from nightmares and fears, all claws and teeth and knowing.

That is the part I know creates the thing I crave, the helplessness of my victims. They know that I know them. The real them. What they keep locked away and hidden from everyone else in the world and they have no way to escape themselves or my knowing. They become helpless and I become the thing they fear, the thing they have no power against, and I move against them, drinking in their helplessness. Their whole being becomes helpless and I devour them in their helplessness. One after the other, 2, then 5, then 10, until the night draws toward a close and I know I am done, hunger sated for another time. My conscience fades as the light of a new dawn rises to reveal the carnage I have left behind.