Pathways

Pathways

One more right turn, one last left turn, and home’s there, just ahead. The gap between the two giant trashbins, a cardboard roof I remake every week from the new junk they drop. And, of course, the ol’ TV set. I’ve spent long hours watchin' that TV, staring into its blank, black screen, letting it pull me into the unknown. I’m pretty sure it sees me, too. I’m not sure if that’s how they’re supposed to work, but that’s how it does to me. I walk towards it, holding my warm mug of coffee. At least, that’s what I calls it. It’s warm, it’s black, and it’s liquid. What more could one ask for but the half-eaten burger in my other hand? Nothin’, I say, and nothin’. Everythin’s right, and nothin’s wrong. I sit myself down on the ground in front of the TV and watch its patient blank screen, munchin’ away. And suddenly, it’s not blank anymore.

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He had been searching for prey for days, scrounging for food to slake his insatiable hunger, looking desperately for more and not finding it. He had no qualms about resorting to cannibalism, if he could only find human flesh. Even the thought of self-cannibalism crossed his mind. And then, an old man had come to the dumpsters he had been about to search. He hid and waited until the man sat down in front of an old wooden box with a black glass screen. From there, it was a simple matter to slip out from behind and stab the man, taking his food. The warm liquid exploded in his stomach, expanded it; the burger completed the job and filled it. Finished. Time to run, now. The retreating, hunched over figure was reflected in the TV’s emotionless screen. One more right turn, one last left turn, and safety’s there, just ahead.