6th-Winter-515
“It smells delicious!” said Wikus once he entered the pavilion. A hot and spicy smell flooded the large refuge; all the walls rolled up to only enhance the feeling of flow and unity present in the family he peaked. Eager to taste the dinner made for the Ankal by the grateful subordinates, he’d bow down to remove the boots, which came off surprisingly easy and allowed his now bare feet to feel the warm and furry texture of the rugs that covered the floor. Aware of the pressure his family was applying on him, he’d shake his head and laugh in order to excuse himself for the delay – as without the Ankal, dinner could not begin. The details of the pavilion were unknown to him, the colors of the rugs or the textile walls were none unless his eyes stubbornly insisted on capturing the details, and even then he’d find they were similar and somewhat assumed by him. It was the same pavilion he had walked every day of his life, having been born and raised between those frail walls he could recognize by mere touch. As of now there wasn’t a single reason for him to control his surrounding, instead being driven by the hunger his stomach begged for him to satisfy. Without delay, he proceeded towards the large square table that hosted his family.
Everything was in its place. The clay bowls were full, the wooden utensils were resting to their sides, and the complimenting meals waited in pairs in the center of the table for those whom found attraction in their aromatic steam to claim a part in their respective plates. The same meal as the day before, as the season before since the day he was born. The same meal he had eaten all his life was once again served for him, which was well welcome by his part. Why eat something else when you’ve already tasted perfection itself? Drums and flutes played from somewhere, perhaps outside the pavilion’s walls and into the void he just escaped moments ago, giving a jolly soundtrack to the family gathering just as every evening. “It smells delicious!” he said once again, unaware that his statement was repeating itself in tone and wording alike. He walked past the guests towards the other end of the table, his hand would gently caress the fur of the family in hopes of proving their meaning to him and somewhat compensate them for the waiting. And finally he reached his spot, where he sat and once again repeated his line. “It smells delicious!”
The hyenas’ droll was already hanging from their snouts, bubbling as they too were starving and had stared desperately at their meals, almost unable to bear the usual delay from the Ankal. And so, the moment the Ankal’s rear rested on the wooden chair, every single one of them attacked their meals. Wikus showed no moderation in his devouring neither, the cup before him being instantly invaded by his bare hand, grabbing the aromatic and hot grass and shoving it in his mouth until his jaw could barely chew the bitter paste. He ate and ate, and no matter how much of the grass he ate the food never seemed to wane. Eventually he found himself thirsty, and so he drank of the brown water that rested in a wide plate with the help of a spoon, which helped him process the grass and somewhat waned his hunger. Meanwhile, the hyenas were literally ravaging the bowls, having taken hold of them between their teeth as their waved them through the air as if tearing a hunted corpse. They sure were hungry today he though as he inspected each one of them, easily recognizing whom was whom by the location of the dark spots of their fur.
To complement the grass, his hand ran deep in the plate of mud, which was hot and moist just as he liked it. The handful traveled towards his mouth, some amount slipping through his fingers and falling on the cup of grass, which instantly ignited the hyenas’ laughter and by consequence, his own. They were always teasing him like that, every night laughing at how he was unable to avoid the mud from splashing on his grass. The two meals weren’t supposed to be mixed! The only ones whom did so were madmen or freaks, and this family wasn’t a refuge for those kinds of beings. After swallowing the extremely sweet mud and removing the fallen remains from his grass, he kept on filling his stomach. His breathing had change with each bite, now being forceful and insufficient as his body struggled to upkeep calm under such large amounts of feed, the tent itself heaving in synch with his lungs, walls and roof expanding and contracting to almost smother the family within. The soundtrack in the background kept on escalating on volume as the feast continued, eventually smothering the rabid sounds of the hyenas that were now ravaging the walls and beams, hanging from walls and ceiling by maintaining their teeth clenched around whatever they sought to devour next. The temperature was increasing as well, Wikus damped in sweat as he carried on with his infinite eating, the fire of the kitchen area roaring angrily and slowly starting to lose control behind him and igniting the tent. The chaos and confusion were, however, not in Wikus’ mind. His objective was to fill the hunger that didn’t quite seem to wane. He felt the bowl from which he ate was about to be finished, and so, as the fire roared just a feet away behind him and consumed everything in its path, as his ears bled from the loudness of the drumming and his brain was pieced due to the frenetic flute, as the hyenas ripped through beams and cloths to expose a dark void that laid past the borders and safety of the tent, he finally raised the bowl to end the feast with a last mouthful of grass.
And so it came to an end. Everything faded once his empty bowl slammed back in the empty table. The soundtrack was gone, the unknown drummer and flutist having gone on somewhere else. The fire was completely extinguished, no longer giving warmth and instead leaving the pavilion as cold as the outdoors. The pavilion no longer fell in pieces, nor showed signs of the terrifying darkness it revealed outside, no longer heaving but calmly swaying with the breeze. The hyenas were full and satisfied, having retired to their own bedrooms and, in consequence, having rolled down the walls. The lanterns he assumed were there to give light were extinguished too, now leaving the entire pavilion in the darkness, with only enough light to see that he was once again alone in the nothingness.
Finding himself alone at the table immediately submerged him in sadness, to the point that he had to bring his palms to his hand to suffocate the wails he produced as he wept. How he longed to be appreciated by his family, yet every night he couldn’t completely satisfy them. If only he had eaten faster, if only he had arrived sooner..! Perhaps if he was a better man he could manage to escape the lonely darkness that was now the table, trapped between rolled down walls that didn’t show pity for such goof as himself. He had to leave the table with the others, he had to get in his bed before the light waned and the cold descended, yet he simply couldn’t make it on time. There was no place for him here once again, the same situation repeating itself day after day since the day he was born, yet never remembering how horrible it felt to be left out the day previous, never recalling the haste he must take in order to make it on time just once.
Everything was still, everyone was silent. He was out of place there, and there was no way to fix it. Standing up, he made his way towards the end of the pavilion, towards the exit he had to cross in order to not disturb his family. He had to fix this, he thought, as he stood before the exit. He was horribly sad, but he was scared even further. There wasn’t a single place he felt safe but this pavilion, his home. Leaving was terrifying. He took a deep breath and held it, simply staring at the cloth door that was stood between the bizarre and dangerous outside world and the familiar and safe pavilion. Tears ran down his cheeks as he finally parted the cloth and took the step he feared more than anything else in the world.
“It smells delicious!” said Wikus once he entered the pavilion. A hot and spicy smell flooded the large refuge; all the walls rolled up to only enhance the feeling of flow and unity present in the family he peaked. Eager to taste the dinner made for the Ankal by the grateful subordinates, he’d bow down to remove the boots, which came off surprisingly easy and allowed his now bare feet to feel the warm and furry texture of the rugs that covered the floor. Aware of the pressure his family was applying on him, he’d shake his head and laugh in order to excuse himself for the delay – as without the Ankal, dinner could not begin. The details of the pavilion were unknown to him, the colors of the rugs or the textile walls were none unless his eyes stubbornly insisted on capturing the details, and even then he’d find they were similar and somewhat assumed by him. It was the same pavilion he had walked every day of his life, having been born and raised between those frail walls he could recognize by mere touch. As of now there wasn’t a single reason for him to control his surrounding, instead being driven by the hunger his stomach begged for him to satisfy. Without delay, he proceeded towards the large square table that hosted his family.
Everything was in its place. The clay bowls were full, the wooden utensils were resting to their sides, and the complimenting meals waited in pairs in the center of the table for those whom found attraction in their aromatic steam to claim a part in their respective plates. The same meal as the day before, as the season before since the day he was born. The same meal he had eaten all his life was once again served for him, which was well welcome by his part. Why eat something else when you’ve already tasted perfection itself? Drums and flutes played from somewhere, perhaps outside the pavilion’s walls and into the void he just escaped moments ago, giving a jolly soundtrack to the family gathering just as every evening. “It smells delicious!” he said once again, unaware that his statement was repeating itself in tone and wording alike. He walked past the guests towards the other end of the table, his hand would gently caress the fur of the family in hopes of proving their meaning to him and somewhat compensate them for the waiting. And finally he reached his spot, where he sat and once again repeated his line. “It smells delicious!”
The hyenas’ droll was already hanging from their snouts, bubbling as they too were starving and had stared desperately at their meals, almost unable to bear the usual delay from the Ankal. And so, the moment the Ankal’s rear rested on the wooden chair, every single one of them attacked their meals. Wikus showed no moderation in his devouring neither, the cup before him being instantly invaded by his bare hand, grabbing the aromatic and hot grass and shoving it in his mouth until his jaw could barely chew the bitter paste. He ate and ate, and no matter how much of the grass he ate the food never seemed to wane. Eventually he found himself thirsty, and so he drank of the brown water that rested in a wide plate with the help of a spoon, which helped him process the grass and somewhat waned his hunger. Meanwhile, the hyenas were literally ravaging the bowls, having taken hold of them between their teeth as their waved them through the air as if tearing a hunted corpse. They sure were hungry today he though as he inspected each one of them, easily recognizing whom was whom by the location of the dark spots of their fur.
To complement the grass, his hand ran deep in the plate of mud, which was hot and moist just as he liked it. The handful traveled towards his mouth, some amount slipping through his fingers and falling on the cup of grass, which instantly ignited the hyenas’ laughter and by consequence, his own. They were always teasing him like that, every night laughing at how he was unable to avoid the mud from splashing on his grass. The two meals weren’t supposed to be mixed! The only ones whom did so were madmen or freaks, and this family wasn’t a refuge for those kinds of beings. After swallowing the extremely sweet mud and removing the fallen remains from his grass, he kept on filling his stomach. His breathing had change with each bite, now being forceful and insufficient as his body struggled to upkeep calm under such large amounts of feed, the tent itself heaving in synch with his lungs, walls and roof expanding and contracting to almost smother the family within. The soundtrack in the background kept on escalating on volume as the feast continued, eventually smothering the rabid sounds of the hyenas that were now ravaging the walls and beams, hanging from walls and ceiling by maintaining their teeth clenched around whatever they sought to devour next. The temperature was increasing as well, Wikus damped in sweat as he carried on with his infinite eating, the fire of the kitchen area roaring angrily and slowly starting to lose control behind him and igniting the tent. The chaos and confusion were, however, not in Wikus’ mind. His objective was to fill the hunger that didn’t quite seem to wane. He felt the bowl from which he ate was about to be finished, and so, as the fire roared just a feet away behind him and consumed everything in its path, as his ears bled from the loudness of the drumming and his brain was pieced due to the frenetic flute, as the hyenas ripped through beams and cloths to expose a dark void that laid past the borders and safety of the tent, he finally raised the bowl to end the feast with a last mouthful of grass.
And so it came to an end. Everything faded once his empty bowl slammed back in the empty table. The soundtrack was gone, the unknown drummer and flutist having gone on somewhere else. The fire was completely extinguished, no longer giving warmth and instead leaving the pavilion as cold as the outdoors. The pavilion no longer fell in pieces, nor showed signs of the terrifying darkness it revealed outside, no longer heaving but calmly swaying with the breeze. The hyenas were full and satisfied, having retired to their own bedrooms and, in consequence, having rolled down the walls. The lanterns he assumed were there to give light were extinguished too, now leaving the entire pavilion in the darkness, with only enough light to see that he was once again alone in the nothingness.
Finding himself alone at the table immediately submerged him in sadness, to the point that he had to bring his palms to his hand to suffocate the wails he produced as he wept. How he longed to be appreciated by his family, yet every night he couldn’t completely satisfy them. If only he had eaten faster, if only he had arrived sooner..! Perhaps if he was a better man he could manage to escape the lonely darkness that was now the table, trapped between rolled down walls that didn’t show pity for such goof as himself. He had to leave the table with the others, he had to get in his bed before the light waned and the cold descended, yet he simply couldn’t make it on time. There was no place for him here once again, the same situation repeating itself day after day since the day he was born, yet never remembering how horrible it felt to be left out the day previous, never recalling the haste he must take in order to make it on time just once.
Everything was still, everyone was silent. He was out of place there, and there was no way to fix it. Standing up, he made his way towards the end of the pavilion, towards the exit he had to cross in order to not disturb his family. He had to fix this, he thought, as he stood before the exit. He was horribly sad, but he was scared even further. There wasn’t a single place he felt safe but this pavilion, his home. Leaving was terrifying. He took a deep breath and held it, simply staring at the cloth door that was stood between the bizarre and dangerous outside world and the familiar and safe pavilion. Tears ran down his cheeks as he finally parted the cloth and took the step he feared more than anything else in the world.
