I'm not hungry. I'm not hungry. I promise I'm not hungry.
The words repeat in my mind, tumbling around and around. I told him I wasn't hungry, so why didn't he believe me? I look at the plate of food sitting on the table. Steak and mashed potatoes. It looks delicious and the smell of the seasoning makes my mouth water. Maybe I can handle just one small bite. I pick up the fork and knife slowly, the cold metal warming as I grip it tightly. He knows how much I love steak, and he cooked it perfectly. Medium rare. I glance quickly to the door before I start to saw into the meat. Pink blood oozes out onto the plate and suddenly I can smell it. The blood. It's everywhere and it's all I can smell.
Before I can even question my movements, I'm shoving everything that's on the table onto the floor. The sound of glass shattering breaks the terrible silence that's been with me ever since he left.
YOU ARE READING
Famished
RandomJournal Entry 1: Anne Bradford. That's me, but everyone calls me Brady. I never know how to start these things off... I suppose I'll start off by saying that Mom suggested I get this journal to write my thoughts in, says I've been all drea...
