Starved Book Novels & Stories

For three years, I’ve been sleeping in my own filth, and marinating in piss and sh*t and sweat and blood. My hair had long since turned into a tangled, matted mass that drags behind me, knotted past my waist like dead vines. But starvation was the true demon here. The agony of it, the slow gnawing from the inside, the way your stomach turned on itself, eating you alive, It drove me to madness. I had eaten my own sh*t to stave off the hallucinations of starvation and drank my own piss to keep from dying of thirst. Each time I did, another piece of my humanity withered and died inside me. Until there was barely anything left that could call itself human.

"...anyway, you looked like you've actually been working your ass off, can I see the paintings?" "It's still packed in my room. Why don't I show you in the morning, I want to sleep early tonight. It was a long drive." "Sure." She drinks the clear water and starts piling the empty dishes in the sink while I tidy up the leftovers. And by sleeping early I mean cozying and wrapped myself in a blanket while continuing to read my honey bun bun's book. "Oh, I missed you so much." I smiled giddily while stroking his face printed on the back cover of the book.

“You did this. My family’s paying a debt that never ends because of you.” The man reached out, his hand stretching longer, twisting into a shadow that tightened around June’s throat. “The debt isn’t mine anymore,” the Hunger whispered. “The debt belongs to whoever holds the Book. Give it to me, and time will move again. I’ll eat the pages, and the world will turn.” “If you eat the pages, the recipes are gone!” June choked out, clawing at the shadow. “The world will move, but there’ll be no bread, no life!”

Arielle. The library was unusually quiet that day, the high windows spilling pale light across the long tables where dust floated lazily in the beams. My hands trembled faintly as I traced the spines of the old books but I forced them steady pretending I was only searching for a title I hadn’t read yet. My stomach ached with a hollowness I knew too well now not hunger exactly but the strange emptiness that came when you had eaten only scraps for days. I pressed my lips together and kept my head bowed, hoping Diane wouldn’t notice.

She's ours now—no more fighting. I nestled between them, sated but already craving more. The manor felt smaller, charged with possibility. Breakfast the next morning was electric; their hands on me under the table, eyes promising endless nights. But as Mum's return loomed, the real game began—keeping our triad hidden while indulging every filthy whim.

She continued flipping through the book when her stomach started gurgling. She whined, she wasn't sure about how long she blacked out for,but she was certain it was already late... Wait, or was it another day? Her eyes widened horrified; has she been in here for a day? She was famished and very weak. But wait, that was unusual.... On a normal day,she could stay for days without food. How could she be hungry? There was surely something uncanny about this library. She closed the book, she couldn't continue... An investigator had to be strong right? She remembered the trapdoor from earlier on... Why don't she check it out first before reading the book. Yes, it was decided then... The door,then

She sees the long dinner table and the mansion’s maids starting to prepare with what seemed to be a feast. Scrumptious meals lay in front of her, and it was only then she realized how starving she’s been. She hasn’t eaten anything for almost 24 hours now, and all the food in front of her seems to be calling to her. It was literally an Arabian feast with all the food that’s laid in front of her. One by one, each dishes showcased a story. A delicate and intimate symbol of how she has painstakingly read through all the books that were given to her.

“Stan, please. I’m not crazy. It’s this new book I got today. Something about it—” “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He grabbed his briefcase. “Another one of your dusty old god books. Of course. You’d rather spend all day reading about dead civilizations than fuck your boyfriend.” His laugh was bitter now. “You know what? Fine. Stay here with your imaginary watcher. I’m done begging.” “Stan, wait—” But he was already at the door. He paused with his hand on the knob, looking back at me with disappointment so sharp it hurt. “Call me when you’re done being crazy, Lyra. Or don’t. I’m tired of this.”

"Go ahead. Sue us. We've got nothing left anyway. Since we can't survive out there, we'll just live here from now on." I stared at her, completely baffled. "Seriously? Are you all out of your minds? Your restaurant got shut down, so what? What does that have to do with me? Why should I let you stay in my home?" Curtis looked at me with undisguised contempt. "Didn't think this day would come when you were scamming free meals, did you? You look like a decent person on the outside, but you're disgusting." Scamming free meals?

Starvation had etched its cruel signature on my bones, and the sustenance they offered felt like manna from heaven—my last supper before the streets swallowed me whole. When the shelter doors closed in daylight, the city's pulse shifted. Food and shelter became urgent priorities. Some local shops extended kindness, offering what they could—a sandwich and coffee. But desperation sometimes leads to desperate choices. Was stealing a loaf of bread worth the risk of incarceration? Hunger gnawed at my insides, and morality blurred in the harsh light of survival.