It was with trepidation that I opened the box and unfolded the layers of waxed paper which were wrapped, like bandages on a mummy, or the cocoon of some loathsome alien insect, around what was to be the source of my sustenance and nourishment. Even before I did this, I could feel the smells wafting out of it, permeating my nose and mouth without consent, or care. It felt neither cold nor too warm on my hands, more like the heat of a body from some unfortunate that recently fell prey to disease. To the tact, it was firm, if not overly so. The rigor mortis had, it seemed, not yet fully set in.

Dully liberated from this celluloid, waxen prison, I could, at last, gaze upon its contents. It was a sight not in the least pleasing to any eye of this world, except maybe to that of the maddened and criminally insane. The ingredients, if one may abuse that word for lack of a better one, looked for all the world as if they had been chewed and regurgitated by some loathsome beast, then repeatedly stepped on with great fury, perhaps by the same. Even before this they must have not been that appetizing, for who knows what appeases the appetite of such beasts, and even more inconceivable, what would their foul organism reject with such force?

No, this was not a delicatessen by any stretch of the imagination. I cursed the circumstances which had forced me to aquire such a wretched meal, at great cost I may add. Putting off the unavoidable, I thought back of the one eyed, hunchbacked, gypsy witch and her solitary cart, stationed at the entrance of some disreputable alley, from which she hawked her dubious wares. Maddened as I was by thirst and hunger, and having at long last escaped my imprisonment, I descended upon it like the plague over some condemned city.

I rooted around my garments as I peered onto the labels of the bottles, ascertaining which ones could, perhaps, be safe to drink. I finally opted for the neetle wine, as at least I was able to discern the script and name of the reputed ingredients. I managed to root out a single golden coin, which my captors had either missed or not cared about. I let it rest on the table, as I muttered though my cracked lips, in a hoarse voice, "I hope it suffices". Seeing no reaction from the witch, I discarded the stopper and after a tentative taste, greedily drank its contents.

My thirst thus temporarily put into remission, I decided to inquire of the peddler, "Do you perchance have some food with you, or may direct me to some nearby establishment?"

"I might have something here for you, sir. All shops are closed at this hour. There is a curfew, after all, since the attacks started." Her teeth were rotten, a motley mix of brownish black, blackish brown, and sickly yellow hues, with the odd green and purplish blue spots for variety. Her tongue, in as much as the dim gas lighting allowed me to see it, had a greenish white growth on top and was purplish black on the underside.

"How do you hope to repay me, however, awaits to be seen, since it took you such effort to produce that single, measly coin."

I considered overpowering her, and helping myself to whatever food she may have, but was indecisive, in account of my, then present, bodily weakness. As if sensing my thoughts, she smiled her rotten smile, making her ugly face, unlikely as such a feat was possible, even uglier.

"Perhaps something can be arranged. I am so lonely out here, peddling my little home remedies, since my dear husband departed."

Ordinarily, I would have balked at her implied offer. Hunger made my choice for me.

Of what trascended that night, I will not speak, as my will is rather to pretend it didn't happen. Maybe this way the memory will do like an uninvited guest that is given the cold shoulder, and depart. Man can only hope.

I set to my meal, thus gained.

I took one bite. Then another. Soon, decency forgotten, I raised the whole to my face, and stuffed it in my mouth. It tasted horrible, in a way that I despair ever being able to describe. I felt an odd sort of strength and power cursing though my veins, burning my muscles, boiling the bones beneath. My back arched, my column coiled. It was unpleasant on the extreme, and seemed to last for an eternity, yet it was over in an instant. I stood, straighter and taller than I ever had. My sight had acquired a clarity unknown to me. My hunger had but increased tenfold.

I tasted the air around me with my tongue. It was rich with the smells of city life. A sweet odor wafted from further north. I followed it. Finally I reached its source, an old, dilapidated building. I read the granite sign on the wall, near the gated entrance, proudly engrav'd "Orphanage of our Veiled Lady. Established 18.." The rest of the date was unreadable, owing to what appeared to be the work of some angered youth. The gates parted easily, after I broke off the chains holding the lock.

I could smell the children, sleeping on their beds in the communal dormitories. Save for those few getting up to mischief, stealing food from the kitchens. The elderly caretakers, sleeping soundly on their private chambers. The garden, where they grew some fruits and vegetables. The few chickens in their coop, providing their eggs and meat. A single pig, fattened with the meager leftovers and the occasional spoiled food. Before the night was over, I was to eat them all.