Bryone's Overeating Odyssey

"I'm going to be sick," I groaned, and with a feeble push, I managed to turn myself over. The room was spinning, and the nausea overcame me again. I retched back into a puddle of my own vomit. When had I vomited last? A few hours ago? A day? My stomach felt so strange; I was so hungry, yet throwing up only made me hungrier still.

I tried to remember why I was in this room and not at home. Something about the pills, the pills that were supposed to fill your stomach but never did. The hunger pill. But who could have believed it would make you feel like this?

I remembered. Bryone remembered everything in a flash of fear and anger and helplessness. There had been little food for months; even when they found work, they barely earned enough to pay rent on the tiny hovel they all shared. They'd begun eating less so they wouldn't starve before winter's end, and I'd begun slipping away from the house at night just to eat until I felt full, just a mouthful here or there, so no one would see me sneaking out and think I was stealing from them all.

Even after he brought back those pills for us, even after he said they would fill our bellies. Even though we didn't believe him and thought he was lying, we took them anyways because there wasn't anything else to do but wait for winter's end, wait and hope that something would change soon. And something did change--the hunger went away, but now there was another hunger, an insatiable hunger that drove me mad. I couldn't stop eating; if I wasn't eating all the time then my stomach ached horribly, as if someone were stabbing knives into it with every heartbeat. I ate everything in the house until there was nothing left to eat except moldy bread and rotten apples, until they told me they couldn't afford more food anymore and went out to find more money while leaving me alone in the house, trapped by their decision because now I couldn't stop eating even if I wanted to--which I didn't want to because now it hurt too much to stop eating; stopping meant starvation again and nobody could bear that any longer than we already had.

So what had happened after that? Had Mama or Papa returned? They must have done something for me when they saw how bad it was--horrible as it felt now, it must have been worse then--but what had they done? Why had they left me tied up like this? Wasn't there anyone else who might have helped them? Of course not--they'd already left the city for Nantes by now; nobody could stay in Angers any longer without getting arrested by the government guards unless they were rich enough to buy medicine or work hard enough to earn cash despite their lack of medicine. That was why my family had fled as well after Papa got caught stealing food from a storekeeper's stall--wasn't it? It seemed like forever since they'd left me here with only half a loaf of bread to sustain myself until they came back with enough money for more food--they'd said three days at most! But how long had it really been? Two weeks? Three weeks? Longer than that? How long had this insanity gone on for?!

"Bryone!" Mama screamed suddenly from outside my door. "Bryone! What did you eat?" There was a thump against the doorframe as she threw herself against it; surely she wasn't strong enough to break down the door if she'd tried her hardest! Surely she must know by now what had happened! "Bryone! Say something! Answer me!"

But how could I speak when there was no breath left in my lungs? How could I answer her when there were no words left in my head besides endless pleasurable thoughts of food? Why should she care about my answer anyway when her beloved son Alain had died from working himself too hard in Nantes just yesterday morning?! She shouldn't care about anything but finding some way for herself and Papa to escape before their hearts broke too! It would be better for them if they left before winter ended: because then there would be no jobs for them once winter came again next year; because then we would have no food or money left whatsoever to support ourselves with; because then there would be nothing left for us but death from starvation or disease or imprisonment! We might as well die together instead of alone: Mama hadn't eaten in days either! We could take our own lives like Alain had done just yesterday morning! All she needed was a single pill--a painless death by overdose--and she'd be free of her broken heart forever! Because what good was having two children left alive when one of those two children had starved herself almost fatally today?! What chance did she have of surviving such a loss?!