A feast interrupted

Kard was enjoying himself immensely. The feast he had before him was exquisite. He drank it in, tasting the new and exotic flavors that poured into him. The beautiful creature struggled to fight him off, but the more it struggled, the greater the taste. He was swimming in ecstasy. He thought that he might burst like a balloon, stuffed beyond what was possible, but the power flowed into him, never filling, and he craved more.

A day within an instant passed as Karden Lowen lost himself for a while. On their own, his tendril's reached out from where he stood seeking more sustenance to fill his insatiable heart. They seemed to have found something extra for the effort. It was like having dinner and dessert at once. Would this ever stop? Karden wished it would not.

Kard opened his eyes to the thoughts of Nepal, “No, that's me!” Only to find the flavor changed drastically. It was warm and bitter salt like the soup they'd served for Thursday's lunch. Thursday was special for Kard. That's when the orderly would come to give him a rubdown and a bath. “Like at the spa,” he thought. This tasted like like that felt. Then he remembered most of the shots, the medications, came to him Thursday mornings; to settle him down before bathing.

This angered Kard and he drew more upon the creature that was his meal. Pleasure rushed into him, as there seemed to be an endless supply of living ambrosia. He could feel it cursing him and he asked for more.

The creature was reading his thought, but did not know he could. Kard let the creature know they could indeed communicate, and offered to give the creature a sample of its own life.

With some difficulty, Kard siphoned off a little of what he was taking from Nepal and tried to feed it back. At first it didn't seem to work, but it took little time at all to get feedback from the creature. A wholly new flavor came from this remixing of its life force. Like switching from sugar substitute to the real thing, he mused. Kard felt the rush seize him, and he pushed for more.

Another eternity passed within the span of a few seconds. Watching his victim intently, Kard had to adjust his focus, for he now found it difficulty to see the creature. He rubbed his eyes, thinking tears must be welling up, but this did nothing to clear things. The air rippled in front of Nepal, his image wavering. The strength of Kard's gorging decayed quickly. He pushed for more, to bring it back, but was getting nothing. “What's this? What are you doing?”

Nepal stared at him, shell-shocked? Kard didn't think so. The next moment, someone else popped into existence in front of his meal. It was a man nearly the same size as his interrupted meal. Same dark hair, but wearing what looked to Kard like pajamas. The hospital had never given him much in the way of clothing. Sleepwear was all he'd known. Were PJs the “in” thing these days? Surly not.

Fascinated, he sent a tendril out to probe the newcomer for taste and consistency. He got nausea, and Kard drew his tendril back. He had had enough of that kind of sickness to last a thousand lifetimes.

The medicines were always making him sick. To keep him under control, they said. To keep him from hurting himself, they said. To keep him from hurting anyone else, they said. To keep him normal, they said. Oh, it's just a side effect, they said. Well, he wasn't going to take what they said. Not anymore. They were going to take what HE said.

The newcomer spoke to Kard's meal, but he only heard “trust me.” Then the newcomer grabbed Nepal. The air around them shimmered and they were gone the next second.

Kard witnessed this during his reverie, paralyzed to bring himself out of it to stop them, his meal, from getting away.

He walked over to where the two had stood. He could feel the echo of their presence, what was gone now, but the space remembered them still.

He was alone, again. He felt the weight of it like an anvil in on his shoulders. He walked over to a nearby sink. He washed his hands and face, and dried them with the stack of paper towels laying on the body of one of his victims. He couldn't remember killing her, but he supposed it didn't matter.

He looked into the mirror. The face that stared back at him was that of man he hardly recognized. Although he was slender, always had been, his face looked chubby. The bald head probably contributed to that look, but he thought it was a good one. He like what he saw. He'd keep his head shaved. This made his heart glad. He also wanted a different perspective, to be able to see himself through someone else's eyes. He should have saved one of the orderlies to help him see.

Then he remembered his goal. He had to find a child to raise. A child of his very own. Someone to mold to his liking, to carry on the burden that was his curse. Didn't he have a child? He couldn't remember.