Finally reaching the area where food stalls were lined up, Josh's gaze fixed hungrily on the breakfast items being prepared. The air was thick with the enticing aroma of sizzling meat, freshly baked bread, and brewing coffee. His mouth watered uncontrollably, saliva dripping from the corners as his stomach growled in protest.
Yet, his pockets were empty—utterly devoid of even a single coin.
Desperation gnawed at him as much as hunger did. Scanning the crowd, his eyes landed on an elderly woman at one of the stalls. She had a kind face, framed by soft wrinkles that seemed to tell a lifetime of warmth and compassion. If anyone would help him, surely it would be her.
Josh approached slowly, forcing his steps to shuffle, his posture slumped to emphasize his pitiful state. He conjured up tears in his eyes, allowing them to glisten in the morning sun.
"Aai, could I have some food?" he begged, his voice trembling as he looked up at her with what he hoped was the saddest, most heart-wrenching expression he could muster.
(*Aai – a term of respect for elderly women.)
Josh may have lost everything, but he wasn't a fool. He knew the power of appearances, how to look downtrodden enough to pull at someone's heartstrings. But beneath his façade, bitterness simmered—a cold anger at how the world had brought him to this point.
The elderly woman paused her work and looked him over, her kind expression fading. Her nose wrinkled, and her eyes narrowed as if she'd caught a whiff of something foul. Pinching her nose, she uttered a single word, sharp and final:
"No."
She turned away as if his presence were no more significant than a fly's buzzing. With a dismissive wave of her hand, she shooed him off like an annoyance.
Josh stood there, stunned. For a moment, he couldn't comprehend it. How could someone who looked so kind be so cold-hearted?
But his rumbling stomach brought him back to reality. Shaken but undeterred, he moved to another stall, and then another. Each time, he repeated the same plea, each time perfecting his pitiable performance.
And yet, rejection met him at every turn. People avoided his gaze, some waved him off, and others outright ignored him. The sting of their indifference cut deeper than he wanted to admit.
By the time the twelfth rejection came, something in Josh snapped.
"If no one will give me what I need," he thought, "then I'll take it myself."
The idea, once planted, grew like a weed in his mind. Strangely, it didn't feel wrong—on the contrary, it felt natural, even justified. A faint, almost imperceptible red glow began to pulse from his body, tinged with a darker, shadowy hue. The light flickered like embers struggling to catch fire, unnoticed by Josh or those around him.
Josh's anger crystallized into resolve. His movements grew sharper, more deliberate as he walked to the quieter edge of the stall area. He scanned the food items with quick, calculating glances, his mind already mapping an escape route.
Spotting a sandwich perched on the corner of a stall, he hesitated for only a moment before his hand darted out. The sandwich was in his grasp, and he was running before the stall owner could even shout.
The world blurred as he sprinted, adrenaline surging through his veins. His legs moved faster than they ever had before, his heart pounding like a drum. It was as if his body had tapped into some hidden reservoir of energy.
After what felt like an eternity, the shouts behind him faded. He glanced over his shoulder and, seeing no one in pursuit, stumbled into a patch of grass by the side of the road.
Gasping for breath, Josh collapsed onto his back, his chest heaving. His limbs felt heavy, trembling from exertion. It had been the fastest he had ever run in his life, and it puzzled him. How could he have moved like that, especially when he was so weak and hungry?
But the sandwich in his hand demanded his attention. He tore the wrapper open with shaking fingers, his dry lips cracking as he brought it to his mouth. He ate ravenously, choking down each bite despite his parched throat. The food was dry and flavorless to him, though its aroma had promised otherwise. He finished it in less than ten seconds, yet his hunger still gnawed at him, unrelenting.
Josh knew one sandwich wouldn't be enough.
Dragging himself to his feet, he stumbled toward the nearest public restroom. Inside, he gulped down tap water straight from the faucet, drinking until his thirst was sated. He splashed water on his face, scrubbed the sand from his hair, and tried to rinse away the lingering stench of alcohol. Though a proper shower was out of the question—he couldn't afford to pay for one—he emerged looking somewhat more presentable, though still ragged.
Feeling slightly refreshed but still driven by hunger, Josh returned to the stalls. This time, he targeted a different area, careful to avoid the stall he had stolen from earlier.
He repeated the process, moving quickly and deliberately. One stall, then another. This time, he managed to grab two sandwiches and a hot dog.
Finding another secluded spot, he devoured them with the same ferocity as before. His hunger finally began to subside, though a faint emptiness still lingered.
With his immediate needs met, Josh stood and began walking aimlessly toward the city. His steps were slow, his head low, yet a strange sense of purpose burned within him.
Unbeknownst to Josh, the faint red glow surrounding him had grown stronger. And with each stolen bite, with each act born of anger and desperation, the darkness within him took root.