 You sit in the middle of an old forgotten Burger King, the sweet smell of freshly killed prey wafting into your nose as you stare at it. At for a moment, you consider the irony of starving in a fast-food restaurant. A fire burns beside you fighting back the cold. But then there is a rumble in your stomach. The knife in your hand clatters onto the tiled floor as your fingers tremble. The traces of blood on the blade splatter on your shoes and under rusted grease traps and broken spatulas. And a set of dead eyes stare back at you when you bend down to retrieve your utensils. They're judging you. You're judging you. Go on, eat. The voice in the back of your head whispers. You consider it. You remember how succulent warm meat slithering down your throat felt. You remember the sensation of seasoned food being cooked on the stove inside this very place. You remember what a conversation with real people was like. That tremble in your stomach returns stronger now. You glance down at your body. It's just skin and bones now, maybe a hint of muscle present. There won't be enough energy for another hunt if you don't eat soon. So go on. Get yourself a handful. You prop the cadaver up against the stove and you stare at it. Drill dribbles out of your mouth saturating the remains of your shirt. It freezes on your skin and breaks off. What would your mother think about you if she knew what you'd been reduced to? Would your father approve? Does it even matter? You've done what you had to do to survive. If she were still with you, you'd already have eaten. So why are you hesitating? An old memory wanders into your mind. Another distraction that you let take you away from this moment. You sigh and enjoy the moment from before the night of tears. It was a simpler time then, warmer too. That girl was there at the barbecue congratulating you on graduating from university. Your mother was there too with her famous baked mac and cheese. Everyone loved it. Everyone was happy for you. You'd done so well. So what would they think of you now? When the snow came, you were driving north on the highway. You stopped at this Burger King and you ordered a Whopper or something. You feel a pain in your stomach as you recall the last warm meal you had was almost a full year ago. At least you think it was a full year. It's been so long since you've seen a calendar. You've lost track. There are no seasons now. Only the winter. Eat the voice whispers. The food in front of you groans. There's a flicker of life in one of the eyes. It stares at you, nearly making you drop the knife again. Your meal breathes shallow breaths and you consider putting it out of its misery for good this time. You take a deep breath and you make eye contact with your meal for a fraction of a second. The food shakes its head. You can see the fear spring up in its eyes. You recognize the emotion and then you put the face to a memory of someone you knew from high school. You tremble, but your stomach growls. You make an unsteady cut across the throat of your prey and watch the life drain from its eyes for good. Your breath is heavy. There's only one final step left to take. You close your eyes and you imagine biting into a hamburger. It helps you keep the food down, but it doesn't disguise the taste. Are you satisfied? The voice asks. You wipe spittle from the corner of your mouth and slurp up the fresh red liquid pouring out of the hole in your prey's throat. You realize you could have eaten for a little longer if you had kept it alive. You grunt and swallow, breathing in short breaths through your nose. And then you take another bite, because you've never tasted anything so good in your entire life.