Melanie Czerwinski is a graduate of the University of Delaware. Her work has been published in The Sucarnochee Review, Dark Ink Press’s Fall Anthology, and From Whispers To Roars.
The Glenshaw Binge
She picked at her fingernails as he watched. She hissed when she picked too close to the cuticle, hand flying up to her mouth for the comfort of her full lips. He remembered the times when he could take comfort there.
“Anyway,” she enunciated, “it’s not going to work out. We’ve tried for so long.”
His hands around his mug shook, sending ripples through his lukewarm coffee.
Their house together was beautiful and so were their children. Successful in academics and extracurriculars. Loving of their slightly overweight father. They had been happily married for thirteen years, his wife initially accepting of his weight.
But now, he thought that she held his struggle with weight against him. Obesity was down significantly since Henderson implants were made accessible, and she had pressured him into getting one. Even with his implant, he couldn’t fight his urge to eat. When things were stressful at work, he ate. When things were stressful at home, he ate. It was his way of coping with life: finding comfort in food.
“Another binge has occurred, this time in the neighboring Anise. The patient, who will remain anonymous, was reported to have stopped on a busy highway, exited their vehicle, and ate an animal that had been run over.”
His wife squinted. She looked directly at his stomach, then back in his eyes.
“That implant never did you much good, did it?” She sipped her tea. “You still eat as much as you want.”
“…Company assures that Henderson implants are not dangerous, and that this is due to a reaction that occurs in the pancreas of some patients.”
“Christ, would you turn this off!?”
His booming voice struck a bolt of lightning through the barista, and she quickly changed the mounted television to a more palatable station. Now a family was looking at a home for renovation while light music played.
“Why were you always so hard on me? About how I raised the kids, what I ate, when I woke up, everything. It’s like you didn’t want me to do anything right; you could always find something.”
“Does that really matter?”
She tapped the back of her phone to the electronic bill and it gave a small beep of confirmation. The bill whispered an automated thank you.
“It might not, but I want to know.”
Exasperated, she crossed her arms and huffed. “Well, look, I don’t know. Maybe it just isn’t meant to be.”
He watched as the small screen on his end of the table lit up with the check. He winced, not knowing his coffee would be so expensive. He copied his wife’s movements, pressing his phone to the screen until it chimed at him.
He remembered coming to this café together, not both from separate cars at a designated time. They were happier, even if things weren’t perfect. She would get an Americano and a turkey sandwich. He remembered it all so clearly.
Her heels clacked against the floor as she stood, smoothing out her bright green dress. Was she trying to impress someone? Was this her way of saying, this is what you lost? It only infuriated him that much more, seeing how it stopped inches above her knees.
“I’ll have my lawyer mail you the papers.” And she clacked away, out of the café and out of his vision. He sat alone and in silence, studying each individual pixel on the monitor. He felt as if they were staring back at him, judging his sorry state.
As he walked home, he surveyed the people he passed and wondered how many of them had undergone a similar procedure. It was impossible to tell; there were so many minimally invasive procedures nowadays with any number of cosmetic benefits. He remembered his shock at how small his incision was, and how interested his son was in it. This is where they cut you open, Dad?
Even brain surgery could be done with the smallest of incisions. He remembered when he was younger and saw pictures in his medical courses of the large stitching running up from above the ear and ending next to the brow. Horrifying scars, he thought, that children now couldn’t even imagine.
He shut the door of the hotel he was staying it behind him. He missed his children, and he could only hope that they missed him. It had been almost a month since he moved out, ending up in the hotel with nowhere else to go.
The refrigerator was nearly empty, save for bottles of water and takeout boxes illuminated by a sickly yellow light. While he had planned to gorge himself on his leftover burger and fries, upon opening the box, he found he had no appetite.
He paused. All he had consumed during the day was yogurt and the coffee with his wife. He should be starving by now. Unless the implant was finally working.
Henderson implants had been on the market for around three years when he finally decided to undergo the procedure. Since the creation of the implants, the average BMI in America had dropped significantly, putting more pressure on those who fell outside of the healthy range. The implants became highly in demand, especially given their quick recovery period and easy procedure. If he remembered correctly, the implants worked by inhibiting production of ghrelin, therefore reducing appetite. Another aspect of the implant was changing what foods were craved—switching from foods high in sugars and salt to those high in protein.
The success rate was high, but he had wondered if he was one of the outliers. A failure. Given his tendency to drown out his stress in food, this only made him eat more. His life had followed that pattern for six months since his procedure. He knew his wife was ashamed to be married to someone even slightly overweight, and that was one of the main reasons she sought a divorce. She could have easily found someone with everything he had to offer and more in a more fit package.
But this gave him hope. He grabbed his coat, the takeout bag still in his pocket, and decided to go on a walk to collect his thoughts. It was dark by then, with few people roaming the streets. Crickets chirped around him, harmonizing with the stream of his mind. He would often walk the dog at this time of night, and fondly remembered the quiet times they had together on their walks in the neighborhood.
Should he contact his wife? She should be happy that the implant is working. It may even mean he could return home. Phone in hand, he stared at the screen as he walked, thumb hovering over her name. He nearly tapped the screen when a strong scent wafted into his nose.
By his feet was an animal. It was mangled beyond recognition, its only defining characteristic its chestnut fur.
He felt an odd, misplaced pang of hunger. This is how binges tend to start, a doctor had explained on the news. The implant patient is overcome by a hunger for the odd and unusual, typically animals that are normally not eaten. There had only been a handful of binges, all occurring in the daylight hours and in public. In the crisp autumn air, he felt completely alone.
He didn’t want to do this. Part of him was desperate to simply go home and rest, forgetting this ever happened. But his hunger had instinct to it, and he was unable to deny it. Slight fear set in as his body moved of its own accord, kneeling next to the animal. Under any other circumstances, being this close to a deceased animal would make him stomach roil. But now, he felt as if he had found an oasis, while the logical part of him panicked, convinced it was a mirage.
Looking over his shoulder to be sure no one was watching, he took the bag from his pocket and stuffed the creature into it before hastily returning to his hotel.
The kitchen in his hotel was small, but big enough. He may have been hungry, but not enough to eat this animal without preparing it. He stripped it of its skin and removed the meat, placing it in the small, cheap pan he had bought when he first “moved in.” It sizzled as it seared, and he periodically used a plastic spatula to flip the meat over until it was completely cooked.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than consuming the animal raw, which many bingers did. They told stories of feeling as if they would die if they didn’t eat at that exact moment. He couldn’t believe that he had to include himself in that category now, but it was irrefutable at this point. Still, he didn’t feel close to death–he instead felt an uncontrollable desire. He transferred the mostly-cooked meat to a paper plate and grabbed plastic utensils before sitting at the small table.
The second bite was better than the first, the third better than the second. He felt as if he were eating after a period of starvation, his taste buds embracing every nuance of flavor in the meat. Not even the gristle deterred him as he devoured his feast, leaving no scraps on the flimsy plate, now dyed yellow from grease.
After taking a moment to process his feast, he prepared himself for bed. Eating with such vigor brought sleep to him quickly. His plate and utensils remained on the table, as did the pan on the stove; reminders of this metamorphosis of self.
He awoke restless, yearning. He surveyed the remains of his last meal, serving their purpose of driving home the fact that he was no longer the man he knew twenty-four hours ago. It shook him, but not as much as it had the previous night. His logical reasoning was beginning to fade, replaced by his desire for meat.
After a shower, he visited the same café where he met with his wife, its proximity making it the most convenient place to visit. It was still mostly empty at that time of day, save for a few women who seemed to be on their way to work.
He could feel sweat beading on his forehead. His hunger came back full force. He felt his mind wandering, hoping that he would come across another animal on his way home. Sitting at a table with nothing but another cup of coffee, his hands shaking, one of the women suddenly approached him. Her black hair fell in her face as she leaned forward, speaking quietly.
“You’re binging too, aren’t you?”
He stared at her wide-eyed in silence. He had made sure no one saw him the previous night.
“I can smell it. Call it a sixth sense.”
He let out a breath, relieved that, at the very least, he hadn’t been seen. There was something mortifying about being seen in such a state. Still, he was now alarmingly conscious of his scent. Was there truly a scent to those who were binging?
“My name’s Maria. Can I sit?”
“Uh, sure.” He cleared his throat and motioned to the chair across from him. “I’m Ross.” It felt as if he were introducing someone else.
She smiled at him briefly before sitting, laying her coat across her lap. She was young; not young enough to be his daughter, but at least ten years younger than him.
“Sorry, I know this is weird.” She ran her fingers through her hair, brushing past a few knots in the process. “I just felt like I should talk to you.”
Maria scowled as a banner about the binge the day prior scrolled across the screen.
“There’s more of us than the news is letting on. Even though they’re broadcasting them more frequently.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
She cupped both hands around her mug, speaking into it. “I think they knew this was going to happen.”
Ross shook his head in disbelief. Who was they? Why would she think such a thing? He wondered if doctors would perform procedures with such dangerous potential outcome. Then again, even today, lifesaving procedures carried the very real risk of death. Was this better or worse than death? There was so much he wanted to ask, but he could tell that this conversation would be brief. He had to prioritize.
“But then… Why wouldn’t they stop production?”
“Money. They make too much off of the successes to even consider the failures. And even though they’re reeling it in, the publicity isn’t hurting them.”
She quickly tapped on her phone before showing him her screen. “Look at the statistics. Just as many people are getting Hendersons this year.”
Ross rubbed his temples. She was one of those types. A conspiracy theorist. But what if there was truth to what she was saying? “Is there anything we can do?”
“Some groups are fighting back. We’ve decided to accept it and see what happens. Besides, it’s not like we can get the implants taken out. You must know how they adhere to the wall of your stomach.”
Groups? He began to wonder just how many cases of binging there were, and how those people were coping. Beyond that, imagining the implant merging with his stomach disturbed him. The implant itself may have been unnatural, but it becoming one with his body was an entirely different issue. He wondered if it made him less human.
“I’ve probably said too much, but…” She reached out and put her hand over his in comfort. “You’ll be alright. We can still eat and drink normally, see?” She took a swig of coffee to prove her point.
“Yeah. I hope you’re right.”
He looked down at his lap. He had no appetite for “normal” food. It wasn’t so much that looking at it or smelling it repulsed him, it simply felt that it was something he shouldn’t eat, like glass or paper. Before he could ask if there were others experiencing this, Maria had disappeared from the café, leaving without so much as a parting word.
When he finally returned to his room, he found he still felt nothing toward “normal” food, although a tiny disgust began to creep in. His hunger overtook him, nearly negating all reason in his mind. He felt almost feral. Still, he wanted to control himself, to not eat such terrible things. But he wasn’t sure if his body would even take normal food anymore.
He stayed awake that night, considering his thoughts during his conversation with Maria. He had never considered humanity much, he found it took too much energy. But now he was inclined to question his own humanity. It was inhuman to crave such meat. If he couldn’t eat acceptable foods, and his body was merged with a man-made device, what was qualifying him as human? His flesh?
The small television in the corner caught his attention momentarily.
“…a notable doctor, famous for performing the first Henderson implant procedure, was discovered after a suspected assault this morning.”
His mind drifted to Maria. She said her group was peaceful, but could it be someone connected to them? He began to feel thankful that he didn’t have the opportunity to be mixed up in their politics.
As the sun began to rise, his eyes slowly closed.
He didn’t leave the house when he woke up that afternoon. He spent hours and hours in silence, considering everything other than the possible consequences of his actions. The hunger he felt overrode such logical thought.
The urge came to him when he first awakened. Less an urge and more of a duty. It was worse than the day before; worse in what he desired, and worse in that the small part of him that felt remorse was deadened. It feared him no longer,
Flesh. Young flesh. Where did the boundary between humans and animals sit? When it came down to the meat, what was the true difference?
But the skin was different. At least, he thought it was. He imagined it was. And he wanted to know what it was like. He saw it as a religious rite, biting into the skin and feeling the muscle beneath. He was still an acolyte, feeding off the scraps with feathers caught between his teeth. He had to become something greater.
He used the afternoon the formulate his plan. This couldn’t be spur of the moment; it had to be well thought out. He remembered: the house key mixed among his things, his wife’s weekly trip to the grocery store. If he hadn’t known better, he might have called it fate, that this came to him on this specific day.
When dusk fell, he made his way to his wife’s home.
The ride felt longer than it truly was, and he watched as the farmland, dyed red from the sunset, stretched as far as he could see. Any number of bugs collided with his windshield as he drove, their insides remaining on the glass. Rather than wavering, his resolve only solidified as he approached the comfortable home.
He felt nostalgic standing in the driveway and gazing at the house. He used to play in the modest yard with his children, building them playhouses and treehouses. He suddenly wished he could return to those easier times. But he couldn’t allow himself the comfort of sentimentality now. He came here to complete a task, one of great importance.
His son was in the kitchen fixing himself a messy sandwich.
“Hey there.”
His son turned, his brows folding together in confusion. It had been months since he had seen his father, but he didn’t seem particularly happy. If anything, he spoke in a questioning tone. “Dad? Does Mom know you’re here?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course she does.” Ross approached the boy, holding his arms out. “Come here. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
As his son approached, Ross faltered for a moment. This was his child. How could he even consider doing such a thing? His arms lowered an inch. However, his thoughts were quickly overridden by that all-consuming hunger, and his fingers twitched in anticipation.
His wife opened the door just as he wrapped his hands around his son’s small neck.
“What the hell are you doing!?” She dropped the bags in her arms and rushed over to pry her husband’s hands away. His grip loosened almost immediately, requiring little effort. Their son was sobbing, running to his room as soon as he was freed and slamming the door. Their daughter peered down the staircase, her mouth agape.
“Jesus, I’m calling the police,” his wife whispered as she fumbled around in her purse for her phone.
Ross stood in silence and began to sob.
Maria sat huddled around a television with the rest of the small group. She twirled a lock of her hair around her finger, gnawing on a bone.
“A suspected binge has occurred in Glenshaw, this time resulting in an arrest. Officials are not releasing any information about the arrest at this time, only that the binger was arrested in his wife’s home. However, this is the first binge to lead to an arrest, as opposed to admittance to a medical facility.”
The bone snapped off in her mouth.
“Ross, was that you?” she whispered.
Two of the members next to Maria spoke up.
“Arrest?”
“I heard from another group that one of the members developed a taste for human blood. Do you think that’s it?”
Maria simply shook her head. “I really hope not.”
If binging led to the eating of human flesh, their groups would be searched for and rounded up. They would be separated and placed in either hospital rooms, or more likely, cells. Maria clasped her hands together and quietly prayed, wondering what god would answer.