Quacks, Hunger-pangs, and Fat Piggies

I didn't know that I could get so hungry that my limbs went numb. I could feel my thin muscles strain with each step, causing the occasional involuntary jerk.

I couldn't help but laugh at feeling like a marionette having its fibrous strings pulled by a fattened little pig with a medieval sword passing right through its head and out of its ass. 'I'd eat you off the sword and lick it, fat piggy.'

On cue, I lost my balance, tripped and fell on all fours into the muddy puddle below. The fattened little pig's cackles and oinks resounded mockingly, or were they my own?

I could feel something welling up from deep within, settling in my chest. Something fiery, acidic, causing a dull pain.

My mouth felt so dry that I considered sinking my face into the disgusting watery slurry to put out the fire in my chest – 'shit, I'm getting delirious' – this was bad, vertigo was setting in.

I felt the fire rise, my abdomen convulsed and my throat and mouth lurched open, letting out only spit and bitter bile. That's right. I've had nothing to eat for five days now. It's only normal that there'd be nothing to vomit.

I wasn't on a diet or anything brash like that. I reckon, if I lost any more weight, I'd border on malnourished.

My lithe figure struggled to free itself of the sticky watery slurry that seemed so adamant on holding me for dead.

I could see myself, vaguely, on a metallic can swaying in the muddy puddle: a few strands of short black hair – turning white at the tips – seemed to have fallen out, floating on the puddle's surface, sunken cheeks that appeared somewhat fitting made my high cheekbones pronounced, and what looked like a nasty case of heterochromia – eating away at the green color of my left eye – smeared half my iris with a dull crimson stain.

The sting in my eye stirred memories of that time a noble gentleman got me good with his fist because he caught me reaching for his lady's steak from underneath the table, but it didn't look nearly as bad then. 'Gods be damned, I'm thinking about food again.'

You'd think they'd be floaters this time, too. But there were none. I could see just fine.

Rich young couples, scions of noble houses – I could tell from their shoes and perfume – promptly walked around me going about their late-night strolls.

I couldn't see their faces, but I still heard the occasional: 'Oh, dear', 'Is she dead?' Or a curious hum, and then they'd go on their way, pretending I was an invisible tiny blemish that soured their mood only a little as they went on with their perfect evening.

Their parents, the stay-at-home wives and husbands of the aristocracy, riding in their tamed Beast-driven coaches, made their way to cozy heated-in-the-winter castles for a three-course meal with the spouse and fat grandchild, but they'll probably skip desert after another exhausting day out with their stay-at-home friends where they ate something light while gossiping or sharing false pleasantries and scandalous half-truths.

It was no secret that stay-at-home friends of the peerage didn't like each other much, but they'd take turns visiting because that's all there was to do for the lesser nobility of the Fortress – save face.

Who could blame them for the sham?

What else could a lesser noble do when her lord of a husband was drinking away the equivalent of their workers' midlife crisis savings at an exclusive club where he could thrall women who would otherwise never spare him a glance and feel like a man again for firing his medieval gun at a chained Beast?

Perhaps, another lesser noble's lady of a wife at some exotic harem where they'd let her fuck vampires, fulfilling carnal desires that her stay-at-home husband would never know of. The thrill of being caught driving her to a euphoric high.

Of course, she knows that won't happen, cheating with vampires has its conveniences, after all. But the thought drives her crazy nonetheless: 'Gods! Will he sink his fangs into me as he ravages me?' I imagine her thinking, could you even think during sex? I heard the fat piggy's cackles again, laughing at my ignorance. 'Shut up!'

The poor vampire would probably disregard all sense of professionalism if he were nearly as starved as I was right now.

Objectively, if I had to worry about all that, I'd probably walk past a skinny little brunette whose short hair, thinning and splitting at the ends, was turning white from stress –'Please let it be stress' – without giving it a second thought. It wouldn't help at all that she was drowning in a stinky puddle of piss and vomit.

I looked and felt like shit.

I wasn't even poor – okay, maybe I was now, but I never went hungry for long enough to feel this lethargic – that counts as not poor in my books, just more than occasionally in need of coin. An achievement coming from an oftentimes homeless street rat in a Fortress renown for zero tolerance against vermin.

'As long as I have food, I can take anything else life throws at me with a rational mind.' I used to believe that, until three months ago when I came down with an unusual affliction that damned my taste buds.

First, the meat lost its taste when well-done, so I started eating it medium rare, then rare, and finally, when I was tempted to eat it raw I knew something was wrong.

Like any other street rat will tell you, worrying about what you don't understand or have little control over will not solve your problem – taking action, however, will – so I ate it raw.

Soon enough, the gamey taste of raw Beast flesh lost its allure and made me sick. I began losing hair from hunger-pang-induced stress or some other kind of food poisoning.

Throw in a lack of sleep and what little remained of my thinning hair started turning white. It was then that rational thought became a rarity and my dreams – waking or otherwise – riddled with skewered piggy derision.

Action now dictated that a visit to the doctor's was long overdue. A, otherwise, costly endeavor beyond my meager means. This quack surprisingly was as cheap as they came – completely free if you made a blood donation. 'What a fool!' he'd patched up my eye last time for --

"Get off my front door you little wretch! You're chasing away business!" Said a balding man with a fat beer belly poorly hidden under an expensive-looking, probably mulberry silk, suit.

I saw him out of the corner of my eye, looking up a little. The motion made the world spin and I felt a sharp pull in the back of my neck.

The balding man now looked like he was walking sideways on his descent down the Reforming Platform of his coach – drawn by three majestic, silver seahorse-like Beasts that floated high above the ground in a hazy gray mist of clouds – the man was a true, in-the-flesh, high noble!

Part of me wanted to believe I was imagining this scene, but even the fat piggy went silent, the gusts of wind ruffling my short scanty hair triggered a fight or flight response.

The foul-mouthed noble kept screaming obscenities, threatening violence even, pointing a finger at me as the platform descended.

The adrenalin rush allowed me to finally muster the strength to pull myself out the mud, and scurry away down an alleyway. 'Gods be damned! What's a high lord doing in the slums?!'

My heart raced. I could hear it thump loudly in my ears as my bare feet touched the cold obsidian tiles of the alleyway. For a moment, even the hunger conceded to my fear. I hid behind a large garbage bin, desperately pushing myself against a wall to appear as small as possible, hugging my knees, eyes shut.

I was too afraid to look up, but felt the wind grow in intensity so I wearily peeked a little. The Beasts' thunderous squeals high up above sent shivers throughout my body.

As the platform landed, the fat noble appeared much larger than he did from up above. More intimidating, with a permanent scowl on his face.

"Even slum dwellers don't respect me now, eh?! Little shit thinks she can leave 'er vermin stench on my establishment's door, eh?!" The high noble spat out.

His gaze darted around the alleyway, passing the garbage bin a few times. He couldn't see me! I held my breath as the noble kicked a can – the same one I'd seen my reflection on just moments earlier – lying on the floor next to him.

It flew in an arc, spectacularly missing the garbage bin, landing on my head before it hit the ground. A sharp pain welled tears in my eyes. The noble put an ear out with an eager grin, I held my breath.

"Lord Vaudeville, we must hurry, the girl is no longer here. Your lord brother awaits – let us not be rude now." Said a man in a calm voice coming from right next to me, I could feel his warm breath tickle my neck, the cold touch of his fingers dangerously trailing the back of my head, while his other hand covered my mouth.

Shivers reverberated through my whole body, forming goosebumps from my neck, down my spine, into my ass, all the way up to my little toes.

I'd never come so close to wetting myself from unimaginable fear.

His touch was pervasive and cold, but also, It felt like he could easily snap my neck or crush my skull.

"Hush now, little one. It would be a shame to spill your blood too early... For a fool like him, no less. Do you understand... quiet?" he whispered in my ears. I took a moment, stunned at what he was saying, but then furiously nodded.

The man eased his touch before appearing right next to the fat noble in an instant, bowing his head slightly as he gestured for the high noble to enter the building with the muddy puddle right outside its door. I covered my mouth with my hands, holding my breath, afraid to even breathe.

The man was tall, much taller than the fat noble, with short silver hair, and a handsome clean-shaven face. He was adorned in a strange, streamlined blue armor resembling the patterns on the Beasts' skin up above. He peered into the darkness right behind the garbage bin, looking at... me? He was! I could see it in his crimson eyes, curiosity, then indifference.

"Fuckin' whore!" the fat noble spat out, glaring at the alleyway one more time before both men approached the door. The mysterious man in the suit of armor put down a white cloth onto the puddle and the fat high noble stepped on it to get to the door, just shy of opening it himself.

The man in the blue armor opened the door on the noble's behalf, bowing his head slightly once more. The fat noble hesitated, warily looking at his surroundings, before he went in.

The armored man shook his head at the fat noble's demeanor, looked at his hands, smiled, then looked my way once more before going into the building himself and shutting the door.

'What was that all about?!' I felt so weak and tiny. That was more than a bit of a scare.

There was no telling what the noble, peeved, could've done to me had the armored man decided to offer me to him! 'Why didn't he?' No one would notice the disappearance of a nameless street rat.

It wasn't beyond the noble, in means or pettiness, to make me disappear if angered. I'd heard some Beasts could memorize scents and hold grudges for a lifetime. What if the fat noble sent monstrous hounds after me?

I sat there for a good while, unmoving, hands still around my mouth, imagining every grim end that awaited me at his hands.

What broke my stupor were flashing lights and a faint buzzing sound. I turned and looked further down the alley, what I saw brought me such relief, it was surprising. Bright neon lights lined a red and white logo of a rundown two story building that simply said: Blood Samaritan.

'I made it! I can see the quack again!'