How Hungry Are You On A Scale Of Ten? Be Ten.

He felt hungry.

He remembered the times when he had no currency left, either in his bank account or in his wallet, and how he would coax himself to ignore the feelings by imagining his hunter-gatherer ancestors dancing naked around a bonfire, while roasting a cow, chanting songs as they gracefully cut open the animal, serving every member of their small band, lovingly, like a mother nursing her newly born baby.

In his ensuing smiles, inevitably his thoughts would also drift along, to the fact that, being hungry….he wasn’t alone. Physically, he was, but in the grander scheme of things, he wasn’t. In fact, in the grander scheme of things, he was actually thriving. At least, he was assured that, on a particular day, his hunger would cease to exist, provided he continued playing his role in a formal economy, unlike the majority of the rest, who would have to beg, borrow or steal, while still not being assured of how their next meal would come about.

He didn’t feel hungry. He was fine. He was thriving. He kept repeating that he was thriving for a full five minutes, after which, he felt…fine. Heck, he felt great. He was privileged that at least, he had choices to make, unlike the ones who were compelled to adjust with whatever essential was available. He had had choices for as long as he could remember. From his clothes to his imaginary girlfriend, who existed in form and shape, but in his mind, a choice that in retrospect was available to everyone, except for the small fact that he talked to her on a daily basis, even going so far as to ask her what she would like to have for dinner.

His mouth salivated suddenly as he imagined about dinner. But this time, he easily shrugged it off. He would survive comfortably, but many….wouldn’t. He felt sad about them, the empathy tugging at his heart, yet sorry that he was in no position to alter the situation, and that it was better if he let the empathy wash over, and think about something else, since he was helpless to do anything about it.

He chose to think about what he should think about next, and arrived at a blank, a sort of clean slate that he stared at, without any indication that he was supposed to use the slate to do something of value. Figuring that, it was better to lie down while he was at it, he realized that a cockroach was wriggling towards him, as if it wanted to tell him something. He looked at it calmly, its pace slowing by the second as it neared the tip of his toes. He knew this cockroach. It had flown at him a few days before when he was as naked as a new born baby, staring at the pile of clothes on his bed, to figure out a pair of clothes that were unwashed for a day or two, but not more than three. The deo would take care of the faint odour if any.

As if sensing, he had recognized it, the cockroach scampered towards the safety of the cupboard, but it was too late. His slippers had landed with a smash, a slight crunching sound confirming its fate. He had taken a life, as he had many times before, without any inkling of remorse or pity of using his power to end a conscious being, that was simply on the lookout for some entertainment, via figuring out its place in the new world that the humans had created. From now on, he would not harm living entity, unless it was a necessity, like an enraged bee intent to sting him or an irksome fly seeking to enter his body to establish its colony, which was unlikely, but one never knew, what course evolution would take. What if one fine day, a swarm of flies accidentally colonised a human being and created a new species?

He imagined giant flies and cockroaches dancing around a bonfire, singing songs and roasting humans, in the midst of a giant orgy, interbreeding with one another, and over the next few generations, create a new super species.

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