#project 77

Unlike Al, who knew who the lurking  were, Eddie doesn’t know who or what have set their sights on him. Something bad is coming. But bad could be anything.

And there’s something following him, he’s sure of it. A creeping, threatening presence.

The weight of it clung to the back of his neck. His shoulders dragged high to protect it from whatever was looming, waiting to catch him.

A Thing rattling dumpsters in the alley as he passed. Quick darting away. A blur he could make out just enough of to be afraid.

If he stops, slows his frantic huffing pace -- how had he wandered so far from home -- enough that he can hear something over the frantic rush of blood in his ears. He can hear war drums. Conflict approaching.

He can’t let that happen. Can’t stop until he’s home.

There’s a scrabble of keratinous claws on the concrete. A chorus in the back of his brain that just says We Hunger.

We Hunger.

We Hunger.

We Hunger.

We starve in a land become waste, cut off from the lands that once fed us. Only the beasts remain. Connected to the grounds where they were born and where they will die. And we, the rest, we hunger.

We Hunger. 

We Hunger

We Hunger.

He hungers.

There’s something he's meant to be a part of that he’s separate from. He can feel them. An ache in his stomach. He hungers.

The city moves around him. Maybe he’s still walking. Fleeing. Searching. Guiding. He doesn’t know.

He just knows he feels the staticy power in the air. Hear the voices in his mind just like he could 16 years ago.

Be sure. Mean it. Say the right words and say them well.

But this voice wants him, not the other way around.

Something is following him. Something bad is coming.