Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Hunger ❯ Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

It was dark. And cold.

 

He was lying curled up on a gritty floor, one hand curled around his stomach and the other under him. He shifted up slowly into a sitting sort of huddle with his knees drawn up, one hand still at his stomach, the crushed hand hanging loosely at his side. It twinged as the blood returned to it though he hardly noticed. Vaguely, his instincts were telling him to get his back against a wall but a stronger compulsion told him it would be a bad idea to move too much from his position. Even reaching out too far was dangerous.

 

He felt the hunger the most, as though it consumed him.

He was weak and he knew that he wouldn't last long. He'd never gone this long without food before. He usually managed to get something by this time. He curled tighter round the gnawing in his stomach.

Somehow, the cold made it more acute, the discomfort brought out the painful sharpness in his belly rather than distracting him from it.

 

He started.

 

A key was turning in the lock. The echoes made it impossible to tell which direction it came from.

He looked wildly about, or would have, had he the strength. As it was, he managed to look around him at a much slower rate than he expected. A bit of light shone in through a crack in front of him. He was suddenly grateful that his head was turned to the back of the small cell as he squinted. His eyes would certainly have hurt a lot worse if he'd been looking straight at it. He stared at the door even though it hurt and waited as his eyes adjusted. There was fear and vaguely remembered pain at the back of his mind and he knew he had to watch the silhouetted figure in case they wanted to hurt him again. The man bent to set something down next to the door. He continued to watch in apprehension as the man rose and cringed, anticipating a blow. But it didn't land. He was still watching as the man left without coming any closer and he flinched as the door closed with a thud.

 

The key turned in the lock, leaving him in darkness once more, and his quickened breathing slowed. Now, he was aware of the object left with him. It gradually became visible though he couldn't think how it was illuminated. Nor did he care when he realised it was food. He stared at it in confusion then the smell hit his nostrils and he couldn't think at all. Could only feel how hungry he was.

 

He uncurled one hand from where it was circled round his knees and reached out, not as fast as he liked, then froze in mid-motion. In fear. There was something—he couldn't—wasn't allowed to do.

 

He hadn't been allowed to eat.

 

He wavered in indecision, then there was a lick of fear, of pain remembered. He drew his hand back suddenly as the fear dimmed the rush of hunger for a moment. Then the hunger returned full force and he started to shake as his gaze locked onto the bowl in longing. The tremors receded though he didn't notice as he stared at the bowl in front of him. The hunger was growing, if that was even possible. His stomach ached and he pressed back harder as he clenched his fists, hard enough to break the skin on his palms. That small pain wasn't enough to distract him as the hunger overwhelmed those sensations. He had to swallow once, then again, as saliva filled his mouth. He wanted it. He wanted it so much he couldn't breathe. Frustration surfaced amidst hunger and he keened once in pain and defeat. Hunger and frustration mounted and his desire, the raw need for the food so close, out of his reach, warred with fear and inevitably won out.

 

He broke and moved, one hand reaching out in anticipation even though he couldn't possibly reach it yet. A spark danced across his steel encircled wrist. Then pain stabbed, bright in the darkness, and he yelped and lurched back, cradling his burning hand and stifling a whimper. Hunger returned to join the throbbing in his hand and his renewed fear.

 

Slowly, the pain retreated and the fear, still present, was relegated to a lesser part of his mind as the bowl reclaimed his attention. Again, hunger repossessed his entire being. His vision was filled with only the bowl and the hunger preoccupied him completely. He leaned forward but couldn't bring himself to move any closer out of fear. Trapped behind an unseen boundary, tormented by his own body, the tantalising presence of something he wanted but could not have, kept him on edge but he could only watch in yearning.

 

His hands kneaded at his hunger unconsciously and his legs now crossed before him were tensed. Hunched over, he gazed unblinkingly at the food. He grew restless, fists clenching and unclenching, still wrapped around his waist. He shivered from cold and want and swallowed again. He took another ragged breath through his parted mouth, aware that his concentration on the bowl was probably exacerbating his hunger. He couldn't tear his eyes away despite this awareness and couldn't redirect his thoughts to distraction. An irrational paranoia of having the bowl removed kept him focused on its presence. Irrational because it was not even in his possession and removing it could only be helpful in his attempts at distraction. He unconsciously began to rock back and forth on his haunches.

 

This time he broke even faster than before and sprang forward. Pain! Again, the same hand received punishment as it crossed that unseen line. He cried out and withdrew abruptly. He'd received a stronger charge this time and he fell back, retreating blindly as pain washed over him in a wave.

 

He cradled his hand and pain, still sharp, slowly evened out so that he was no longer blinded. The hunger returned again and he whimpered, his eyes drawn back to the bowl. His stomach cried out in agony, growls and cramps racking him in a symphony of torture. He was shaking again as pain, fear and temptation tore him apart from within. His impotence, the press of hunger and stifling desire bore down on him and the pressure made his eyes tear and forced mewling whines from his lips. Still, the fear held him back even as the cramping threatened to split him apart from the middle. He crammed his right fist into his mouth and bit down hard, half to keep it from reaching out again and risking the pain, half for something—anything—to bite into. He was bent over, kneeling, left hand wrapped around his middle trying to wring his stomach into submission. He couldn't take this for long, the starving was overwhelming his senses and the fear couldn't compete after the pain faded. He was crying now with abandon, keening his want, his need into the darkness.

Then his eyes gained a look of resolve. This time, he determined to brave the pain once and for all. This could only be the last time and he would get to the bowl—he had to. He knew it was going to hurt really bad to cross over that far and he wouldn't be able to do it twice but he couldn't bear it anymore.

 

He tensed, then scrambled towards it. Midway, the pain hit and then he was screaming. Forcing himself to move past that point, he collapsed beside his goal, gulping in air as pain racked his body. For the moment, all that registered was the horrible, excruciating agony that drowned him. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could only feel as wave after wave of pain crashed over him. Gasping sobs tore from his throat and he struggled to take in enough air to sustain him. Shuddering, tears leaking from his eyes, the pain ebbed enough that he could breathe again. He curled up into a ball, sobbing, trembling all over. Finally, the pain receded enough so that the sparks cleared from his vision and he could move again. His stomach reminded him of why he had gone through that torture and hunger galvanised him into action. He looked up for the food, falling over the bowl in pain-racked desperation. He clutched at the bun and tore into it, devouring it in seconds. He snatched up the second and demolished that too, choking more than once in his haste. He grasped at the now empty bowl and whined in disappointment before collapsing once more over it into a huddle of pain and exhaustion.