"Hey, Kitty, it's your turn."
There was an anticipatory pause. She wasn't the one who had started the game, but she was the one who played it best. After a period of time, the game had evolved from playing to pass the time, to playing to keep time, to playing for it, because it was unspoken but aknowledged that when the game ended, so did all hope...because then there was nothing left.
Kitty was hungry, as were they all, but the time when being hungry could give hope had also passed. It was known all too well the consequences and results of attempts to go out and find something to appease that hunger.
Her sigh was barely perceptible. "I want some..." she paused, and sighed. The level of despair that was already at a fathomlessly deep level sank still further. But then she continued on.
"I want some eggs. I go out and don't throw up for an hour, and there is nothing, but I keep looking." There was another sigh, this time from the rest of them, because once again, Kitty would come through. No one yet had been able do bear it nearly that long, and just her saying "an hour" meant that she had to have hope, right? At least in any case, it made it seem somehow almost tangible..the hope that maybe, just maybe...
"Then, I remember that I left some powdered eggs in my chest of drawers." This time, the hope was so tangible that a few actually started to pray again. Kitty had eight times left..and eight times come back with food..the first two from the remains of her house.
Of course others had left and come back..it was Kitty that decided that Martha and Roy were okay to be eaten...and that Jim wasn't. Of course all the others knew that once Kitty had presented the idea, that there was no hidden or hoped for food left, even for Kitty..but still..there was the prayer, even if no hope was left, that maybe..just maybe..she would remember another hidden small store she had previously forgotten.
At first, Kitty had sent others out. Jim, most of the time. Jim was old, and mostly, he aqueisesced easily to the long drawn out other 'game' played..the game of "who will go", so by his own meager protests..by his own not struggling hard enough to protest against it..he had been elected.
Jim was dragged out after he died in the end, and not eaten. Had he deep down wanted it in the end? Was that why he had gone up with the least amount of protest?
Because by a certain point of course it had already been discussed and agreed that those who died would be 'fair game' for those left..a conversation held at great length, and over many days.
Weeks? Not one left wanted to think of how few the weeks had been..all preferred to think of days, which made the intermenable time all were trying to pass at least seem like it was something at least vaguely resembling the 'time' they once knew..or thought they did.
"I'm not sure if the eggs will be good..after all, the oatmeal wasn't, but maybe powdered eggs last longer than oatmeal."
Hope again began to rise, because of course that is what everyone wanted to hear..that if Kitty did remember eggs, then they wouldn't be filled with the foul bugs that the oatmeal had. All had gotten sick on the oatmeal, and Martha had made funny gasping noises, and when the last match was lit, it was so precious that even though the site that faced them was horrendous, that the match was held steady in Kitty's hands and continued to burn. Martha's face was literally a pale shade of blue as she had struggled in vain to draw air into her. Was she dead by the time the match had burned out, or did she last a few seconds longer? It didn't matter in the end. Martha was the first one to be pulled out from the cellar, by Roy and Kitty.
Of them all, Kitty had been out the most, and yet she still breathed..and what is more important, still hungered. Jim had begun to timorously volunteer to go whenever she had said she would go out and try, and in the end, it was what killed him. Were there times when Kitty volunteered knowing that Jim would want to take her place? Did it matter?
After Martha had died, even Kitty for a time wouldn't go out..and when Jim began to crawl to the top of the stairs and push the door open a little, leaning out to vomit, because all the wastebuckets were full, no one asked her anymore.
And they all grew more hungry. That was when the game began. The game of saying what meals would be eaten when it was all over..although all knew it would never end. After many days of conversation in which every imaginable feast was spoken of, there was a silence.
The ironic part was that for some unknown reason, a pipe had burst above...bringing water..water that made no one sick, or if it did, it would take yars and not days to kill them. Maybe thirst would have been a more merciful death..in any case it would have been quicker. There was not one among them, Kitty included, who had not deliberately, whether spoken or not, at some point or another deprived themselves of going to the pipe and putting their lips around the bottom of it.
The pipe actually was never left alone. Because there always came a point when one of them would break, and then remain in the awkward yet familiar position required to remain to assuage the terrible thirst.
It always was assuaged, of course.
The game had long ago become boring and discontinued about whether or not anyone would give up their hour of going to the corner and either on tiptoes or with the help of another, have their lips closed over the tiny leak the pipe that still carried water.
It had been weeks..and still the pipe had not failed. There had never come a point with any one of them where they were not willing to miss more than two turns at the pipe..the thirst tormented so unbelievably that even though a death by thirst would have been quicker..it was quite simply not bearable by any of them.
Everyone took a turn at the waterpipe, and the turn was over whenever someone left from under it..no longer tormented by thirst.
So before any of them had actually died, the hunger had become so intense that after all had used up their imaginations on what they would eat if they could, the conversation inevitably began to turn to what could be eaten....
All had agreed.
It was only after Jim had died as well, and been pulled up, to the top and while others held the cellar door hope, pushed outside, that Martha was seriously considered.
When there was nothing left of her, it was decided that even though it was probably choking that had killed Martha and The Sickness that had killed Jim, that he was an option.
But by that time, by the time that Kitty and Bob went to the top, and walked to the end of the yard where Jim had been laid down, he was putrefied. The hunger was great, so great that he was still tried, but every attempt to struggle to put what was left into their ravenous bellies left them gagging and weak.
It was at that point, that everyone of them still left in the cellar went as far as they could and were out as long as they could bear it, before they ended up returning to the cellar, on their knees crawling and weakly shuddering with dry heaves.
The turns at the waterpipe left them with enoug saliva to talk, and since there was no light, talk was all they had to mark time with, so talking began to take on a rhythmic, almost tribal pace, and when one was done, it was the next's turn.
When Roy didn't answer, even after nudged, came the slow realization that he was dead.
There was not one there, including Kitty, who was not ashamed of how rapidly they had taken out their knifes, and for a peroid of only nine..what...days? There was no day and night, for it was only dark, but there was a peroid of time, and there was again no food.
Recrimination began when the extreme hunger did again, of course. Recriminations such as "It was you who said that it didn't matter how fast or slow, that it was all food, and if slow, it would be like Jim..how do you know..we could have gone slower!!"
The debate raged for an intermenable period of time...but all time was intermenable, so time once again began to lose it's importance..
The only thing that mattered was the hunger, and all conversations revolved around food.
Again, they went to Jim..but by that time, time had done it's trick...and it also looked like there was life after all..for he had been gnawed upon by some other..
Some other what?
Speculation raged about that for a time, until that topic again became stale needs to the gnawing need in their bellies.
At that point all nine of them went outside..
All nine ended up crawling back, with the peculair and maddening dry heaves that happened after being up from the cellar for any time longer than..
Thier best guess was half an hour. Each one took an area.. a house that was once there that was now rubble..each one returned empty handed, gagging. And of the nine that were left, no one died.
So they began taking turns.
One would talk as long as they could about food. Something about food. It was the only requirement. Then, when all thoughts that could be spoken were and exhausted, it was their turn to go out and roam and try to pick among the rubble for something to give to the hunger..
And would return, gagging.
At this point it was well understood by all what the rules of the game were. No one would kill another. The group would not rise up against one. There would be no discussion about it.
And there wasn't.
But the next one to die...
At this point it was also well understood by all that the only reason there was that no one was ganged up on and picked out was because no one person had the outright enegy it took to either attack another, or formulate a plan qwith the others, or even a few, to do so.
Hunger was all encompassing, and since there was nothing..what was devoured was each person's energy.
So they were all waiting for the next person to die..and no one would or could join with others to cause the next person to die.
So the game continued..each person talked about food..spun their tale..and left the cellar..returning weak and gagging with the oh so frustrating dry heaves.
It was Kitty's turn. Of the nine, she was undeniably the leader, undeniably the most beloved, undeniably the one who somehow could say the best story..
It was Kitty who was keeping all the others alive by that hope, and yet if she gave up..
Kitty would die if she gave up. She knew that. So she continued. "It's just one packet. I know you are asking what a packet of powdered eggs would be doing in my chest of drawers, but remember, I kept stuff it weird places."
They all remembered. They remembered 'before'. When Kitty had put stuff in strange places and got money for being so strange she was mentally unstable. Kitty's mother had forced her to go hungry, so she had started the unbreakable habit of 'storing food'.
The house was unrecognizeable, of course, but the general ideas of where things used to be were remembered; even if the rememberences were not exact, they were close enough.
Of all the ones who had braved the sickness and sought food, Kitty was more than all the others, the one who had lasted the longest 'outside', and the one
who had managed to come up with the most food, including the protein bars she remembered that were in her purse and that her purse was in the house....or what was now the rubble of the house.
So the rest put their hopes in life in her. They put their hope in Kitty that she would 'remember' something..this had been the topic of a few of her turns, and the fact that her turns at talking about food and what to eat and how good it would taste and how it could be found were so looked forward to, even though they all thought that by all rights she should be the next to die, and they were not going to wait like they did for Jim..when she died, they would fall upon her..
And yet they relied upon her for their hope..whatever intestiminally small amount of it there was left in any of the other eight. So when Kitty had her turn, they did allow her a shorter period of time than anyone else to come back after looking.
Because Kitty told the best stories..and the rest couldn't wait for her turn. She was a wasted, shriveled schezerade, spinning tales best, the ones who all the others had put was was left of their store of faith into, and just as filled with the gnawing hunger as the others.
And was Kitty really gagging after so short a period of time? Was she really at the end of her reserves of strength to save what was needed to make it back?
She was the only one who knew for sure, although of course when she was gone and out pitifially poking among the nearest remenants, the talk centered around her. But mothing had ever come of the whispered conversations when she was gone.
Thus far.
"I am pretty sure that I know about where my chest of drawers would be. And nothing would get at that packet of powdered eggs, it was made to last a while."
The other eight began to drool, without realizing it.
And then the unusual happened. Kitty's voice. "I am pretty sure that I can find it..I could even lift it by myself."
Carol, Fred, and Marty began to cry, the tears streaming down their faces without them even realizing it. The others couldn't see them, so they didn't realize it either.
Hands were reached in the dark..the most humble of whispered beginnings..but the voices began to be louader..almost a conversational tone..which for them was so loud! Because Kitty could have kept going for a while, but she had already left the cellar..going up the stairs..pushing the door open until it was awkwardly ajar..and she walked out.
The conversation hummed among those she had left behind, and skittered and darted this way and that, like the hopes they dared not speak outright in the fear that they might jinx it somehow.
But each one of them believed that Kitty actually DID havea packet of powdered eggs somewhere in the ruins...
She came back so soon that all were stunned...for a moment, until she spoke.
"I need someone to help me left a piec of shit!" All knew that by that she mean a large piece of debris. They all rushed forward, and then Kitty said, in a peculiur voice, "Mickey, why don't you help me?"
Mickey rushed up, eager to help.
There was no conversation among those who were left..all were terrified beyond reason, hungry beyond imagining, and yet dared to breathe..to hope..
to hope.
"I have some food, but I need some help," finally came the voice from above. They all came up..to the paler darkness from the darkness of the cellar...the dimness that didn't allow for vision, except that they could see more than they could down below...to see Kitty, with one hand clenching a small packet that said "USDA POWDERED EGGS, COMMODITIES, NOT FOR RESALE OR TRADE", and the other with a long pink strip of meat.
Tears streaming from their faces, they came up as one to hug her, and to beg for their share of the food..
It was her turn, and she had brought them food.
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