It did not start as a hunger for blood. No, it started as a far more familiar appetite, the usual set of needs. The need to be held. The need to be comforted. The need to have all other needs seen, noticed, met.

She started, then, as we all do. She started hungry. But unfortunately, she stayed hungry.

It was not enough to live on just enough. To live in a body just fed enough, just warm enough, just noticed enough. Just enough did not satisfy her hunger.

And so, unnoticed, her hunger grew. It was a need that whimpered, that paced, that howled to be noticed. Needy, she was called. As though she was wrong to need. As though it was her fault that those needs squirmed inside her, looking to be seen.

And as that hunger grew, there was less of her and more of it. A body too small, a hunger too great. Growing strong in her weakness, it was only a matter of time.

By the time they noticed the full force of her hunger, it was too late. Too late to satisfy her with anything else. Too late to realize that it didn’t have to be this way.

After all, it did not start as a hunger for blood.

∼ Miriam H. Harrison

© Copyright Miriam H. Harrison. All Rights Reserved.