Eeny Meeny

102

He wanted to die.

For Mark death would be a blessing now, a relief from the pain that racked his body. He had tried to fight the fever, to concentrate on the here and now, to try and work out how he and Charlie could effect some sort of escape, but that made his brain ache even worse than usual so he’d succumbed to lethargy instead.

How long does it take to die of starvation? Too long. He had lost track of time but was certain they’d been in their prison for the best part of three days now. His stomach cramped constantly, his throat was swollen and raw, he barely had the energy to lift himself up. To pass the time he tried to conjure memories of his childhood, but thoughts of school bled into thoughts of Paradise Lost, the poem he’d studied (hated studying) at secondary school. He felt like a character in that nightmare vision now, endlessly tortured by the freezing cold at nights and the awful sweats that gripped him during the neverending days. There was no release.

He knew his fever was getting worse. He had good moments and bad moments. Moments when he was lucid and could talk to Charlie, others when he knew he was babbling incoherently. Would he lose the plot completely at some point? He pushed that idea from his mind.

His hand reached round to the back of his head to explore his wound. The gash was wide and deep and his dirty fingers probed it now.

‘Leave it, Mark.’ Charlie’s voice penetrated the gloom. Even after three days of purgatory, she was still looking out for him. ‘You’ll only make it worse.’

But Mark ignored her for something was moving against his finger. His wound was alive. He pulled his fingers out and brought them up to his nose. Maggots. His wound was infested with maggots.

He held his fingers up to his mouth and swept the little worms into his mouth with his tongue. It felt strange as they slipped down his throat. Strange but good. He plucked a few more from his wound and crammed them into his mouth.

Charlie was already wandering over. She lowered herself to the ground beside him. Mark paused – their friendship and common decency kicking in once more. With an effort, he turned his head, offering himself to her. Hesitantly she plucked two fingers’ worth of maggots out of his wound and dropped them into her mouth. She savoured them, letting them dissolve on her tongue, then took a fingerful more.

Too soon it was over. The maggot meal was finished. Now their stomachs pulsed with hunger – the tiny morsels they’d consumed only reminding their innards how utterly empty they were. More. More. More. Their stomachs wanted more. Their stomachs needed more.

But there was nothing more to give them.