Nobunaga - Hunger
Fingers threaded through messy, brown strands as worn, weary, clear eyes drew to the beaten form before the teenager. A bitter taste of copper filled the back of his throat. Ruby tainted lips. It dyed pallor skin and slathered across red and gray clothing. Chaotic thoughts racked his brain while the tiniest of seizures seized his body.
How had this happened? Why did it happen? Mere hunger should not drive a normal person to slaughter an innocent then drink in their cries as nails scratched and teeth gnawed. Mere hunger should result in sitting down properly, eating a bowl of hot rice, soup, or poultry seasoned to preferred tastes with vegetables.
It should lead to washing down with sips of tea or shots of sake. Not this. Not this. Not this.
He swallowed harshly, grimacing at the taste of blood, uncooked flesh and tissue.
Something in the back of his head reprimanded him, insisting that he had done a good job and that there was no need for these childish emotions. Besides, was his stomach not full now? Tense muscles relaxed. Hands dropped to his sides. A heavy sigh befell shaken lips. It was right. He was no longer hungry.