Going to Bed Hungry is about a man cursed to only devour people’s dreams. For several nights, he fails to satiate his hunger. He tries his luck one time before dawn, breaking into the bedroom of one sleeping stranger.
The worst thing about breaking into the fourteenth floor of a high-rise building was the rising of the sun. When he saw the open window, the murmurs for a proper meal started. Hunger numbed his joints. He leapt from one air-conditioner to another, around the building, like a set of stairs. The threat of daylight arriving earlier than expected was not the first thing on his mind; it was meant to rise four minutes before six. It said so on his phone and it was rarely wrong. Minutes later, he watched as a crescendo of reds and oranges started behind the Harbour. Steady and inevitable was his urge to toss his phone out the open window.
Perched on the headboard he looked out of tired eyes, from a pale face. He pulled back from the window to glance at a plastic sheep, resting on the bedside table. Its belly blinked 05:37 and the cartoon companions, decorating the outside of the drawn curtains, blinked at him, their wooly bodies bleaching in the light bouncing off his dark trench coat. Underneath his coat, he wore a white button up, slacks and black leather shoes, the crease of his clothes broken from crouching a fraction of the time he had spent ironing them. Two rules, he spent over a decade respecting, broken in a day.
The first transpired in a public park several hours ago when he took a sip from a drinking fountain, despite knowing he was only meant for a diet of nightmares, and anything else would come close to killing him. Evidence speckled his shoes and sanded his throat. The water had stretched and danced, like the clear liquid illusions of lonely men and women his taste was accustomed to tucking into. Once the sun rose, he swore to limit his hunt to the night, when nightmares were ready to pick off, so to speak. It was easy then. His receptionist’s job at a hotel provided him with a master keycard that gave him access to an endless, rotating supply of them.
For the three years he worked there, he remained undetected. He went home in the mornings full, until two weeks ago. It was rumoured that someone had ransacked three rooms, looting away jewellery and even small electronics. No forced signs of entry were recorded. It was concluded that an employee used their card. In the meantime everyone’s cards were revoked till they found the suspect. If they had covered tracks better, he would be home by now, after a night of venturing into the guest rooms, relieving unsuspecting strangers of their phobias, granting them a full night’s rest. Instead he was stubborn in a stranger’s house, wearing his interview suit, determined to gulp last bits.
He needed to go, before he broke the last rule.
With a slightly clearer head, he slowly started to the edge, closest to the window, his soles whispering against the wood. He stretched out a hand to the curtains, lifting his body. The fabric brushed cooly against his fingers, still crisp despite the rising sun. The prospect of eating the tepid illusions of another suit, dozing off at the trains, or freshmen napping at some open bar for the tenth time, annoyed him. It was, though, better than getting—a whine escaped beneath him.
His back thudded against the wall. He braced himself close to his thighs, sandwiching both arms between them and his stomach. Caught between his fingers, the sharp ends of a fork were bullied between his teeth. A mantra misted up the copper finish. He felt the urge to cut himself with it. He might as well. Maybe he would think with his brain next time.
His teeth had clanked against the fork. He inched his face away from his hands and slowly looked down, like a gargoyle. He felt the back of his neck grow damp underneath the collar of his dress shirt.
The little bump lying on the bed turtled underneath the comforter and tried to move away from the morning. At the bottom edge, pink wiggly toes peeked out, curled back in, just as quickly. They tugged at the swathe of purple fabric down. A full circle of her face escapes.
The sun drove into the window, cutting the upper part of the bed against her eyelids, which moved. His body shifted behind the line, ready. She opened them.
