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The funny thing is, a week ago we were all starving.

Famine hits slow, but it hits hard. First it’s just hunger, but it gnaws away inside you until every little thing is reason enough for a quarrel, a fight, a murder. Slowly, day by day, the flesh wastes away from your bones – and all the bones of those you love – until everyone you see is nothing but ribs and knees and elbows, limbs too long, eyes too sunken. The old and the young and the sick, they die first. You watch them die, and you feel the hunger gnawing at what remains of your flesh, and your thoughts wither and die before you can think them. Next thing you know, you’re fighting to the death over scraps in the street.

If you’d asked me how I wanted to die – a week ago, a month ago – I would have laughed, would have twisted my wishful fantasies to macabre extremes: overeating, I might have said, swallowing more than I can chew.

Drowning in porridge. Choking on sweet millet.

The streets vanished days ago, and with them those too weak with hunger to flee. Is it a comfort, I wonder, to taste milk and millet a last time as you die – to know what crowds the breath from your lungs is nourishment, sweet and wholesome? For some, perhaps; but I expect all its flavour is nothing but salt in the wounds of the starving.

I fled upwards. Others fled outwards, out of the city, and I wonder now if they had it right; I thought this – whatever it is, wherever it came from – would be just as much there as here, and so I thought it better to stay where the roofs are tall and the walls are easily climbed. But those roofs are islands, now, pointed spines jutting out of this yellow sea, with only their chimneys left to climb to. And still its thick waters are rising.

I’ve given up the hope for my life – you can’t swim through the stuff; to sink is to drown – but I can’t bring myself to end it. I cling to my chimney and wait, and watch my death creep ever nearer, ever higher, inch by inch by painful inch. I’ve nothing to do but to watch it. I can barely move.

Food, at least, is easy to come by. The more I can eat of it, the longer I’ll be able to breathe.
Written for A Game of Genres, Week 3. Post-apocalyptic fairy tale, under 1500 words.

Pretty much a grimdark retelling of "Sweet Porridge" or "The Magic Porridge Pot" or whatever you English speakers are calling it these days (otherwise known as: that fairy tale about how one cannot trust one's parents with technology). Possibly more actually apocalyptic than post-, but there's really not a lot of room to go forwards from here.

Wordcount: 410.

This story has been published in Myths, Monsters, Mutations, edited by Jessica Augustsson, which you can find on Amazon US here and Amazon UK here.
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leyghan Featured By Owner Jan 13, 2018  Hobbyist Writer
The descriptions in this are terrific.
GDeyke Featured By Owner Jan 14, 2018   Writer
Thank you so much!
jes6ica Featured By Owner Sep 25, 2017
Would love to include this dark myth in the antho too! :D  (I wants ALL teh stories!)
GDeyke Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2017   Writer
I'll send it in when I have a moment. :D
jes6ica Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2017
Perfect! :)
ThornyEnglishRose Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
I'd almost forgotten this fairytale, but now I remember my grandmother reading it to me a long, long time ago. I couldn't believe how stupid the old woman was - she tried every command but the right one! It's a clever idea to adapt it for this genre, and very well done.
GDeyke Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2017   Writer
I really do think it's a lesson in ensuring that everyone who uses a certain appliance knows how to properly work it. Thank you!
MissAddledMiss Featured By Owner Sep 1, 2017  Hobbyist Writer
Your world building in this is excellent. I really like the description in this piece and how acutely you go into the sensation of hunger.

I've never heard of this particular fairy tale though I'm tempted to look into it.
GDeyke Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2017   Writer
Thank you! Acute starvation is something I can visualise all too well. ^^;

I always enjoyed this fairy tale, largely because it sounded delicious, but all it takes to move the catastrophe from silly to horrific is a tone shift.
JenLaFayette Featured By Owner Sep 1, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Oh my god, I haven't heard Töpflein, stehe in years xD
I used to love that fairytale ^^

And it's a really cool twist you put on it. Very well done :star:
GDeyke Featured By Owner Sep 2, 2017   Writer
Same here. Thank you! :D
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Submitted on
September 1, 2017


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