The Hunger Novel Novels & Stories

A predator learning new terrain. Hunger was the first true citizen of London she met. It had travelled with her, a gnawing passenger, but here it solidified into a sharp-clawed creature living behind her ribs. The meagre bus station sandwich was a memory. The seventeen pounds were not for food; they were for survival’s architecture—a roof, however temporary.

Vivienne’s POV I tore through the food like a wild animal that had never seen a meal before. Meat, bread, fruit, it all disappeared in seconds, hands moving so fast I barely noticed the twins gawking or Asher’s brows shooting up like he’d never seen a starving woman. I didn’t give a shit. My mouth was full, fingers greasy, not a scrap left behind. Hunger owned me. I was running on empty, soul-starved, body howling for fuel, and right now nothing mattered but filling the void.

My hand presses against my stomach. “No,” I whisper. This isn’t mine. Not the slow ache of skipping a meal. This hunger is sharp. Urgent. Like a body sounding an alarm it can’t turn off. The baby in the bassinet. Crying. Crying. Crying. A wave of dizziness rolls through me. I grab the edge of the counter to steady myself. The baby doesn’t know what hunger means. It only knows something hurts. Something is missing. And no one is coming.

“It will eat you alive if you refuse. Hunger does not care about morality. It only knows suffering.” Eluan’s hands shook as she clutched her worn bag. The letter she had hoped to receive from Taram that week had not arrived. School fees loomed like a cliff she could not scale. Hunger had become a companion, silent but insistent. She had skipped meals. She had ignored the gnawing emptiness in her stomach, telling herself that faith would carry her through. Yet the pangs had grown sharper, sharper than any sermon, any prayer, any promise. Ododo’s eyes searched hers, calculating, patient. “I can provide,” he said again. “Food. Shelter. Everything you need. But you must not refuse me.”

It’s the only seasoning I can afford. When nothing is left, I lick my fingers, dirty and greasy. The relief is temporary. Hunger recedes, but it is not defeated. It lurks, patient. And shame, it settles in. It takes root, deep, definitive. I straighten up, my legs shaky. I resume my walk, my aimless wandering. The city continues, indifferent. The lights of the houses blink, warm, behind the windows. People laugh somewhere. They have a roof. They have a warm meal. They have a life.

For a moment, I couldn't believe that he was there, right there, completely mine because I had pictured this moment for several weeks. Ever since I had seen his face in that bar. Sometimes I would close my eyes and envision him. My head replayed every second of our encounter too many times. Until the memory was stuck in my head. Like an old cassette. I couldn't forget, No. Not the hunger in his eyes. Or the desire on his face. Neither the soft sultry sounds he made when my hands had been exploring him. At first I told myself it was only lust. Strong lust. But that feeling grew and swiftly turned into something heavy, one that kept me awake and restless in the dead of the night.

Hazel cried, holding her bleeding nose. “Sorry won’t fix it!” Selene stood up and started stomping on Hazel’s legs and stomach. Thud! Thud! Thud! “Take it! Take it! This is what you deserve! Ugly thing! Nobody wants you!” Days passed, and the hunger became unbearable. It had been three days since Hazel had eaten anything substantial. Her only food was a small cup of watered-down soup with no meat or vegetables. She was starving. Her stomach felt like it was being twisted by knives. She looked at the dogs eating their food, and she envied them.

⸻ Watching. The city became silent. ⸻ Because everyone understood. ⸻ The missing third fragment. ⸻ The forgotten piece. ⸻ The one nobody remembered. ⸻ Had finally returned. ⸻ 🌙 The Hunger’s Fear For the first time… The Nameless Hunger stepped backward. 😨 ⸻ Not because it was hurt. Not because it was weak. ⸻ Because it recognized him. ⸻ 🖤 “You…” ⸻

But after I bartered the necklace for a hefty chunk of bread and a generous slice of apple tart, a hesitant smile crept across her face. As she devoured the food with a ferocity that spoke volumes about her hunger, I learned her name was Elara. She was an orphan, abandoned at the village gates a few months ago. The villagers, bless their kind hearts, took her in, but times were tough, and food was scarce. As she shared her story, her voice a quiet murmur, a picture emerged – a picture of a harsh life, one where hunger and uncertainty were constant companions. And yet, there was a spark in her eyes, a resilience that refused to be extinguished.

Things felt too peaceful these days, which made me anticipate another danger lurking behind the shadows. Focusing my attention back on the book I was reading, my stomach then rumbled, I continued with the hope I would endure it, but in less than five minutes I threw my legs to the floor, heading to the door. Who was I kidding? There was no way I could endure this hunger.