InsaneJournal

WHO: FAMINE! And some random people, including narrative guy named James.
WHAT: Causing chaos and eating souls LIKE A BOSS.
WHEN: Early evening.
WHERE: A not-so fancy little diner in the midtown area.
RATING: Expect gore. And crazy.



The day had been long and James was exhausted. The trip home post a double shift at the site was always a painful one and, as per usual, James made it in point to stop by the old greasy spoon a few streets off from his apartment. The place was grungy and slightly run-down, but the people behind the counter were decent and knew just how he liked his food, so James found that he liked it well enough. It saved him the trouble of having to cook after a hard day and, if he called in ahead (which he always did), Milly would have his food ready for him by the time he got there. A double stack hamburger, topped off with the works and a full side of fries. It was perched up neatly at a booth in the corner, Milly popping out from behind the counter to give James a friendly wave as he flopped down on the curved padded seat. It was a good meal. A little more than on the unhealthy side, but James figured he deserved a little something for himself after a day like this one.

As he dug into his meal, the scruffy blonde-haired man noticed a group of suited men and women, two of which were helping an old, frail looking man out of the back of a black Caddilac Escalade. At the sight of the man, James felt a sudden stab of hunger in his gut and he took a big bite out of his sandwich to sate it. The next he looked at the group outside the old man was being dropped into a chair and wheeled inside, the group of suits surrounding him almost protectively, as if he were the President or some kinda celebrity that needed a full on body guard staff to go out in public. Suddenly, James found that he wasn't the only person intrigued by the old man and his security team. Heads were turning in every which direction, bodies leaning over counters and tables to get a glimpse of the group of people that were making their way into the tiny diner. James slumped back a little in an attempt to look somewhat less obvious than the others, another surge of hunger leaping through his stomach all the while. This time, though, when he took another bite from his burger, the hunger didn't stop. Snatching up a handful of fries, James shoved them in his mouth and swallowed them down greedily, half-chewed and piping hot. He didn't seem to much care that they burned a little going down - he'd accidentally downed hotter things before - so he kept on going as he eyed the old man coming through the front door.

They set him up toward the back of the diner. Outside of his raging hunger and the unusual sight of the suits in front of him, James was able to notice that everything in the diner had suddenly gotten eerily quiet.

No one was talking. Not the suits, not the old man, not anyone that had been chatting away prior to their arrival. No one. Instead, everyone was busy stuffing their faces in a rapid succession, their interest in the new arrival dwindling in favor of the food that was sitting in front of themselves. Upon further inquiry, James was quick to realize that he was among them. He might have been watching still, but his hands were still fast at work, shovelling every bit of food he could get his hands on into his mouth to deal with the unusual bout of hunger that had overtaken him. As his plate emptied, James could hear the old man muttering in a hollowed, raspy voice - it was hard to hear, but with the sounds of knives and forks clinking against plates and people distractedly silencing out their own voices by stuffing their faces with food, James was able to string together a coherent enough sentence.

"I'm starving."

And suddenly, just like that, so was he. Plate empty, James hopped out of his seat and started to make way for the counter. At first, he figured he'd just ask for a couple more fries, but as he got closer James knew that he couldn't wait. He felt empty on the inside - right down to the point where it physically hurt - and the idea of waiting for his own order to come up after requesting it just didn't fly so well with him.

It seemed, as he vaulted over the counter, that he wasn't the only one who felt that way. A mass of bodies abandoned their seats and came flying back toward the refridgerator and grill, each desperately reaching for something to shove down their throats to satisfy the ravenous monster that had taken them all over. James dragged a half finished burger off the grill, bare hands burning in agony from the heat, and forced it into his mouth. This time, the burn going down did hurt, and as he swallowed the meat, James found himself caught between screaming and reaching for more.

More. That was what he wanted. It was what they all wanted and it was downright horrifying that none of them seemed to be able to stop, James included. He didn't know what was happening or why it was, but every single body in that diner was greedily attacking the kitchen area, forcing unbearable injuries upon themselves to get their hands on the slightest bit of food they could find.

In the back of the room, James could hear someone speaking. Repeating the same words over and over again, using that same rasp that he had heard just the once before he'd lost his head. Somehow, James knew it was his fault. He knew that it was the old man and his team of suits that were responsible for all this and he wanted to do nothing more than turn back and ring his neck for bringing this madness down upon all of them. Except he couldn't. James couldn't even bring himself to turn around to glare at the man - no, it was just the french fries, boiling away in the greaser that he found himself lurching toward. Still cooking away in the basket of grease that they'd been dropped into, James pushed his way past a younger woman who was already sliding her fingers into the burning hot grease and - even though his mind was beggging him not to - he forced his fists into the liquid and began to snatch at the undercooked fries that were sitting in the grease below.

His skin began to melt from his fingers, flesh burning in such an agony that if he were able to grip some kind of control over himself, James would have dropped down and howled in agony. He didn't. He couldn't. As much as it hurt, the only thing James could do was eat. He shoved the fire-hot fries into his mouth, face suffering from the same burn wounds that had overtaken his raw and bloody fists.

"Feed me. Feed me."

There it was. That voice. It was him - the man in the wheelchair - he was doing this to them. He was making them hurt themselves, he was their hunger.

James didn't stop eating until he was dead.