Scrounger: Five

t’s the fear that strangles his movements and pauses his actions. He gazes past her eyes and watches the people living. They sit and eat dinner, they butter a roll, they tip a glass of water into their mouths, they live. This living, without reason or knowledge to why, is what he craves. None of it makes any sense, but he wants to continue doing it.

And with her.

But if he gives in to any fleshed-out desire…

“You know some people have recovered from it. Those that do become immune.”

That single word strikes him. What if he is immune? She?

“For now, please? Sit?” she asks. Begs, really. This pleading comes from her entire body, not just her eyes. She resists walking forward and sits back down, stretching her hand out, inviting him to rejoin her.

He wants to. So badly. As her pleading reaches out from her body, his want surges back. It’s like their two energies meet at the table and hug. She feels it. He feels it.

But as her skins breaks out in goose flesh, she’s not sure it’s feelings or sickness.