In the Mouth of the Void?

I woke to the taste of my flesh.

Not the metallic sting of blood on my bitten lip, nor the dull ache of distressed fingertips, but something deeper. It wasn’t physical. No torn skin, no missing chunks of meat. And yet, I was being eaten, consumed from the inside.

The Darkness lives in me, has always lived in me; a parasite with no form, no face, no claws to scratch at my bones. It doesn’t need them. It has teeth made of memory, regret, and self-loathing, sharpened over years of careful feeding. It is patient, gluttonous, devouring me one thought at a time, one piece at a time.

Tonight, it gnawed at the edges of my consciousness, pulling me apart with caution. My failures, my mistakes, my weaknesses, my regrets. It chewed them thoroughly at first, savoring every bit.

Then it went deeper.

“You don’t need this,” It whispered. Its voice was not external but very much internal, bubbling up from my gut, moving along my ribs. “You have too much. Let me take what you don’t need.”

And I let it eat me, because that’s what I do. Because that’s all I can do.

Every once in a while when I did look in the mirror I hated what I saw. Every time I let guilt sink its claws into my spine and drag me down. Every time I convinced myself that I was a burden, a failure, a waste. I tore off pieces of myself and handed them over willingly, watching as it swallowed them whole, greedily, hollowing me out from the inside.

I felt its hunger tonight more than ever before. My fingers twitched, my throat constricted, and I realized it was eating faster than usual. It had learned the taste of me, and it needed more. My past mistakes weren’t enough anymore. It wanted my future. It wanted my now. My present.

My body curled in on itself, instinctively trying to hold in what was left of me. But it was useless. My insides were hollowing out. The Darkness slithered into the spaces where I once existed, its presence warm and intimate. It didn’t force its way in. It didn’t need to.

It was me. And I was it.

“Let me end things,” it purred, rasped, promised. “You won’t have to feel anything anymore. You won’t have to be anything to anyone anymore.”

My lips parted, as if to answer, to agree, to surrender.

And then—

A whimper. Not mine.

My dog curled at my feet, his small body trembling in sleep.

The sound sliced through the thick, gluttonous pull of The Darkness, jolting something deep in my gut. Something human.

The Darkness recoiled. It did not scream. It did not rage. It simply withdrew. Its appetite unsatisfied, its hunger simmering.

But I knew it would not starve. Not yet. Not while I was still here to feed it.

I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of my faint heartbeat. I was still here. Still whole, though never just me.

The Darkness had eaten its fill tonight, but it was never satisfied. It would always want more. And one day, it might take everything. Because that’s the thing about hunger. It never truly ends.

And if you’re reading this, ask yourself: How much of you is still yours?

Or has it already started eating?

Written By: Rushad Tata