The Hunger

She could have only been seventeen, but he was twenty-nine. He had charmed her in his masculine attitudes and lured her to his bed. She was waiting there and anticipating. He gazed at her immensely until she lowered her eyes and turned her head away. He progressed towards her and swayed her on to the bed.

He unclothed himself and pounced on her as a greedy monkey. He messily peeled her off her clothes and flung them over the floor. He kneaded her body as dough and squeezed and pressed her to the bed. His tongue ferociously began to tread her body. His beard frayed her cheeks. His teeth consumed and began chewing up on her nipples. And finally, he was ready to have the whole pork for himself. Her groans and moans filled the room until he had, had it all.

Thus, their hunger was satisfied.

Out from the window came a loud shrill. A screeching sound of a baby could have been heard very distinctly…

The house was not very far away. It was a small hovel with no proper doors or a window, where a mother had just returned home. It was almost eleven in the night. She took the crying infant out of the cot and patted it. The infant would not stop crying. She fed it with some fetid water, but no good. She later unhooked her blouse and got the infant’s lips closer to her breast. The infant promptly began sucking in whatever it could. Not more than few moments, there was lout cry yet once again.

Her breasts were dried. She had nothing for her to eat. She hooked her blouse and left the infant crying on the floor. She sat there, on the floor, her elbow on the knee and slapped her forehead.