Her feet ache from walking, her backpack pains her shoulders with its weight. Marceline has been walking for far too long, her eyes sting from all the sleepless nights, and all she needs right now is a safe place to sleep. At 14, she is strong, but not strong enough to stay up for two days straight. Her feet crunch on the rubble, a dusty city ruins surrounding her. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and rain drops begin to dribble from the brown sky, polluted rainwater forming puddles in the asphalt cracks of the road. The rain begins to fall harder, and Marceline looks around for some kind of shelter, hoping she can find some kind of building that wasn't blown to pieces. A flickering sign shines above the rubble, "Eat" blares at her in glowing orange letters, an abandoned restaurant just ahead. Marceline breaks into a slight jog, the fast food joint inching closer and closer until she was standing outside, looking through the windows in observation.
"It looks safe…" She reassures herself, giving the place one last look. She notices something.
There are french fries on that table. Yum.
French Fries are sitting 15 feet away, calling out to her. Those fries are now her only destination, her stomach moans in agreement. They look so delectable, all alone on the table.
She hadn't had fries since… She couldn't even remember when.
Marceline doesn't notice the larger shadow prowling the perimeter of the restaurant, doesn't feel its evil presence lurking through the cover of the rain, it doesn't notice her either.
They're both really hungry, though.
Marceline looks around at the surrounding rubble. A bright blue stool on wheels sticks out, and Marceline feels a twist in her stomach as she pulls the chair from the wreckage and carries it back over to the window. First she hesitates. And then suddenly the chair is out of her fingers and through the glass and on the floor of the restaurant, bathing in a puddle of shards. She steps through the broken window, the glass crunching under her too-small sandals. Looking back at the broken window, she whispers for her own sanity,
"Vandalism is wrong."
Letting out a heavy sigh, Marceline heads toward the french fries, her stomach moaning. An uneasy feeling settles upon her.
This was someone's business, it was where they spent every day, and most of their life. Maybe they had a big family, 4 kids that worked in the restaurant after school and spent quality time playing board games. Maybe they didn't have much money but they were happy because they just had each other. Or maybe it was just the owner and their spouse, but they were content with just the two of them in their apartment, paying bills with french fries and burgers and watching TV in the dark all cuddled up on the couch. Or, maybe, the owner lived alone, with nobody but themselves to take care of but still plenty to worry about and be scared about of. If that were the case, Marceline could relate.
Either way, whoever they were, they were dead.
And that is precisely the reason she leaves money on the counter. She could not steal these fries knowing the owner was dead or gone, and she was still alive and well. She already had enough guilt on her shoulders.
"Ah, ketchup, that's what I need. Maybe there's some in the back?" She turns away and heads toward the condiments table. She swipes the cold red ketchup bottle, and shakes it to confirm that it is not empty, and fortunately it isn't.
She doesn't hear the crunching class behind her.
Or the footsteps across the cold linoleum floor.
Or the smacking and chewing and swallowing.
It is a desperate kind of devouring, not for taste, but because it needs to feed.
Smack.
Chew.
Gulp.
Smack.
Marceline doesn't notice anything until she turns around and heads back to the table with the ketchup. A smile lays on her face, she cannot wait to taste them.
A familiar face is illuminated by a single hanging light-fixture swaying back and forth.
A monster in a suit inhaling the french fries she had been so determined to have for her own. He looks up and sees her, coughing in surprise and nearly spitting out all the fries crammed in his mouth.
"Sp-Ca-I-Marceline!" He sputters, fireworks of potato flying from his lips.
Marceline sniffs, and rubs her eyes with her arm. It has been 10 years.
10 years since her father bothered to pay her a visit.
She only had one thing to say to him. "Daddy… Why?" Her voice cracks, and tears leak down her cheeks.
"Marceline, how've you been?"
"H-how… Have I-I been? How have I been? I've been terrible, 'Dad!' In case you didn't notice, I've been living alone in the crumbles of whatever's left of the world, scrummaging for food and raising myself! In case you may have missed it, the apocalypse happened. You left your own daughter to her own devices during the actual end of the world. What kind of father does that?" Marceline fumes, as Hunson Abadeer calmly continues eating the cold and stale french fries. "Stop that!" She cries, knocking the fries off the table.
"Oh," He pouts. "Now you've ruined them."
"Dad! Are you even listening?"
"Oh, Marceline, don't be so dramatic. In case you've forgotten, you most certainly did not raise yourself. And you were never alone."
"Excuse me?"
"Ugh, so dramatic. I can't." He sighs heavily and grins. "Marceline, we're together now. I can finally teach you about the family business!"
"I know about the family business, okay? And I don't want to be a part of it, and I don't want to be a part of your 'family' either. I have my own family." Marceline crosses her arms.
"Your own family?" Mr. Abadeer chuckles, his laugh is cold and condescending. "You mean that silly old man you followed around your whole childhood? He couldn't even keep himself together. He doesn't even know who you are anymore."
That really hit home, the tear start to build up again, Marceline's parting words to her father are shaky and watery.
"I hate you."
And with that, Marceline steps back over the crunchy glass, and out the window, just the way she came.
Her father is left alone in the dark diner, fries spilt on the floor, ruined.
"Tsk tsk tsk… What are we gonna do with you Marceline?" He tries to remain cool and calm, his teeth clenched tight as he grinds a frenchfry into the ground with the heel of his shiny shoe.
Outside, it is dark and the rain has gotten worse but Marceline doesn't care, she is angry she is upset and rain is just perfect for that kind of feeling. Her ponytail is falling out, stray hairs stumbling down her face, her clothes are sopping and her nose is stuffed and she can't stop thinking about chicken soup while she peels a stuck piece of paper off the bottom of her sandal. It is wet and smudged but she can somewhat read the smudged writing at the top of the page.
Marceline,
Marceline stops reading and throws the letter back to the concrete, muttering "I don't want to hear it tonight."
Why bother reading the musings of a ghost?