fear intermingled with the cloud of confusion
surrounding her.
“Bree, I know you’re
afraid but you have to do this. You have to.”
“When he gets better, I’ll
discuss it with him further,” she whispered, preparing to hang up the phone.
“Wait!” Rita’s voice was
desperate, her fear clinging to every word. “Don’t let it go too far. If he
starts to change, if his hair falls out, if his skin turns white.... You can’t
let it go too far.”
***
People don’t realize how much blood and water there is in
muscle. Just a small section of flesh can be diced and added to a meal like any
other meat, but it’s the juice that sets it apart from an animal. The
now-familiar aroma fills the kitchen with a spicy richness, intermingling with
the vegetables it stews with. No broth is used—humanity itself provides all the
complex flavor necessary.
***
Bree prepared the
protein-rich drink the doctors prescribed for Hugo. It had been two weeks since
she’d spoken to Rita, and her nerves balanced on the edge of hysteria. Hugo no
longer appeared to sleep, and he ate only what she forced inside him, yet he
would inevitably vomit half of it. He didn’t speak or move, only grew paler by
the day, always keeping his vigil on the moon.
She reached for a knife
to cut open a new package of whey powder, but sliced open her finger instead.
Quickly, she pulled the wound into her mouth and opened the package, but not
before two small drops of blood fell inside the package.
***
The desert is wide around the small house; some would
call it desolate. Isolation is what they need now—nothing for miles. It appears
abandoned but for the smoke rising from the chimney. A common misconception is
that the desert is always warm, but at times it can be one of the coldest
places on Earth. The wind can whip through a body, setting in a chill no soup
can thaw.
By the blazing fire, the meal finishes early. Now all
there is to do is wait.
***
Hugo’s eyes adjusted to
the darkness. Stillness had captured his soul, but something woke him from his
slumber. Outside, a rare rainfall brought the steady ping of droplets against
the windows. He looked down and saw the old, withered hands of another man, a
man he had tried to force himself to forget.
Shaking his head to
dismiss the superstition he was raised with, Hugo stood unsteadily and moved
through the darkness of the living room.
How long had it been
since he’d gotten up from that chair for more than just a trip to the bathroom?
How long had it been since he’d felt in control of his own body?
Moonlight spilled in
through the windows, distracting Hugo with fractals of color splitting the
night. Blues and silvers wavered on a spectrum he’d never imagined existed,
while other colors drew him forward. They mesmerized him as he stepped into the
glow and felt the power of home course through his body.
“N’mahom Pguasek,” he
uttered before closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. He savored the night’s
vivid flavors, and the sound of lizards scurrying about outside.
He turned his head
sharply and breathed another scent into his lungs. Deep in his body, a hunger
stirred, and he knew that peace awaited only a few steps away. He followed his
instincts down the dark hall, back to the master bedroom where his wife slept.
Inside the room, he gazed at her as moonlight shone on her face, as her blonde
hair glimmered in the air, creating a halo of color around her perfect face.
Breathing in, peace and love filled his soul.
He
sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb her, and watched her sleep.
A smile crept over his
face as time sped by. The moon dipped below the trees and the amber lights of
morning filled the sky. Bree’s breathing changed, and the flutter of her
eyelids and the soft moan from her lips assured Hugo she was just moments away
from waking.
He stretched out and
stroked her face. “My love.”
“You’re back,” she said
softly, still somewhere between the
surrounding her.
“Bree, I know you’re
afraid but you have to do this. You have to.”
“When he gets better, I’ll
discuss it with him further,” she whispered, preparing to hang up the phone.
“Wait!” Rita’s voice was
desperate, her fear clinging to every word. “Don’t let it go too far. If he
starts to change, if his hair falls out, if his skin turns white.... You can’t
let it go too far.”
***
People don’t realize how much blood and water there is in
muscle. Just a small section of flesh can be diced and added to a meal like any
other meat, but it’s the juice that sets it apart from an animal. The
now-familiar aroma fills the kitchen with a spicy richness, intermingling with
the vegetables it stews with. No broth is used—humanity itself provides all the
complex flavor necessary.
***
Bree prepared the
protein-rich drink the doctors prescribed for Hugo. It had been two weeks since
she’d spoken to Rita, and her nerves balanced on the edge of hysteria. Hugo no
longer appeared to sleep, and he ate only what she forced inside him, yet he
would inevitably vomit half of it. He didn’t speak or move, only grew paler by
the day, always keeping his vigil on the moon.
She reached for a knife
to cut open a new package of whey powder, but sliced open her finger instead.
Quickly, she pulled the wound into her mouth and opened the package, but not
before two small drops of blood fell inside the package.
***
The desert is wide around the small house; some would
call it desolate. Isolation is what they need now—nothing for miles. It appears
abandoned but for the smoke rising from the chimney. A common misconception is
that the desert is always warm, but at times it can be one of the coldest
places on Earth. The wind can whip through a body, setting in a chill no soup
can thaw.
By the blazing fire, the meal finishes early. Now all
there is to do is wait.
***
Hugo’s eyes adjusted to
the darkness. Stillness had captured his soul, but something woke him from his
slumber. Outside, a rare rainfall brought the steady ping of droplets against
the windows. He looked down and saw the old, withered hands of another man, a
man he had tried to force himself to forget.
Shaking his head to
dismiss the superstition he was raised with, Hugo stood unsteadily and moved
through the darkness of the living room.
How long had it been
since he’d gotten up from that chair for more than just a trip to the bathroom?
How long had it been since he’d felt in control of his own body?
Moonlight spilled in
through the windows, distracting Hugo with fractals of color splitting the
night. Blues and silvers wavered on a spectrum he’d never imagined existed,
while other colors drew him forward. They mesmerized him as he stepped into the
glow and felt the power of home course through his body.
“N’mahom Pguasek,” he
uttered before closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. He savored the night’s
vivid flavors, and the sound of lizards scurrying about outside.
He turned his head
sharply and breathed another scent into his lungs. Deep in his body, a hunger
stirred, and he knew that peace awaited only a few steps away. He followed his
instincts down the dark hall, back to the master bedroom where his wife slept.
Inside the room, he gazed at her as moonlight shone on her face, as her blonde
hair glimmered in the air, creating a halo of color around her perfect face.
Breathing in, peace and love filled his soul.
He
sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb her, and watched her sleep.
A smile crept over his
face as time sped by. The moon dipped below the trees and the amber lights of
morning filled the sky. Bree’s breathing changed, and the flutter of her
eyelids and the soft moan from her lips assured Hugo she was just moments away
from waking.
He stretched out and
stroked her face. “My love.”
“You’re back,” she said
softly, still somewhere between the
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