The soup is cold.

You stir it.

It does not mix.

The broth stays still.

The meat floats.

It looks like a face.

You do not like faces in food.

Especially not that one.

It looks like your father.

It looks like him when he was sick.

You push the bowl away.

The spoon clatters.

The sound is loud.

It is too loud.

In this room.

In this silence.

You are alone.

But you are not.

The walls are breathing.

You know this.

You have always known.

The house is alive.

It eats.

It remembers.

You are the detective here.

You have been for years.

You look for the crime.

The crime is hunger.

The crime is the cycle.

The cycle is the bowl.

The bowl is the trap.

You check the clock.

Three o’clock.

It is always three o’clock.

The light is yellow.

It smells of rot.

It smells of rosemary.

It smells of old blood.

You stand up.

Your knees crack.

They sound like dry branches.

You walk to the kitchen.

The kitchen is a mouth.

The tiles are teeth.

You open the fridge.

The light is white.

It is too bright.

It hurts.

You see the jar.

The glass jar.

It is empty.

It is never empty.

But today it is.

You feel a pull.

In your chest.

In your stomach.

In your throat.

You reach for it.

Your hand shakes.

The glass is cold.

It burns.

You pick it up.

It is heavy.

Heavier than glass.

It is full of air.

The air is thick.

You shake it.

Nothing falls.

But you hear a sound.

A whisper.

It says your name.

Thomas.

Thomas, you are late.

You put the jar down.

Your hand is sticky.

It is not wet.

It is sticky.

Like sap.

Like syrup.

Like regret.

You wipe it on your pants.

The stain is dark.

It will not come out.

It is part of you now.

You go to the window.

The window is a mirror.

You see your face.

It is old.

You are not old.

But the face is.

The face is tired.

The face is hungry.

You touch the glass.

It is warm.

It beats.

Like a heart.

You pull your hand back.

You are afraid.

You are not supposed to be afraid.

You are the investigator.

You find the truth.

The truth is simple.

You are the food.

You are the meal.

The house is eating you.

Slowly.

Bit by bit.

Memory by memory.

You think of Eleanor.

Eleanor is gone.

Eleanor is in the wall.

You can hear her.

She hums.

It is a low hum.

It is a sad hum.

It is the hum of the earth.

You miss her.

You miss the way she laughed.

She laughed at the soup.

She said it was too salty.

She said you cooked like a ghost.

You did not mind.

Ghosts have no taste.

Ghosts have no hunger.

But you do.

You are not a ghost.

You are the victim.

You are the prey.

The house is the predator.

It is patient.

It is kind.

It feeds you.

It keeps you warm.

It keeps you safe.

It keeps you trapped.

You go to the table.

The table is set.

For two.

One plate is yours.

The other is empty.

The setting is perfect.

The napkin is folded.

The fork is aligned.

It is too perfect.

It is wrong.

You sit down.

The chair creaks.

It sounds like a bone breaking.

You look at the empty plate.

Who is coming?

No one is coming.

You are the one who comes.

You are the one who stays.

You are the one who is eaten.

You pick up the fork.

The metal is cold.

It tastes of iron.

You put it in your mouth.

It is not metal.

It is tooth.

It is human tooth.

You spit it out.

It rolls on the table.

It has a root.

It is wet.

It is warm.

You look at the soup again.

The face is moving.

It is smiling.

It is your father.

It is your mother.

It is Eleanor.

It is you.

They are all in the bowl.

They are all hungry.

They are all waiting.

You feel the pull again.

It is stronger now.

It is in your veins.

It is in your skin.

It is in your eyes.

You cannot stop.

You must eat.

You must finish.

You must become.

You lift the spoon.

The broth is thick.

It coats the spoon.

It looks like skin.

It looks like flesh.

You bring it to your lips.

The taste is bad.

The taste is good.

The taste is familiar.

It is the taste of home.

It is the taste of death.

You swallow.

The heat spreads.

It burns.

It heals.

It binds.

You take another bite.

The meat is soft.

It dissolves.

It is not meat.

It is time.

It is years.

It is days.

It is hours.

You are eating your life.

You are eating your past.

You are eating your future.

You are eating your self.

You stop.

You breathe.

The room is still.

The walls are still.

The house is quiet.

You feel lighter.

You feel empty.

You feel free.

You stand up.

You walk to the door.

The door is open.

The air is cold.

The air is fresh.

It smells of rain.

It smells of dirt.

It smells of life.

You step out.

Your foot hits the ground.

The ground is hard.

The ground is real.

You look back.

The house is gone.

The table is gone.

The bowl is gone.

The soup is gone.

You are alone.

You are in the field.

The grass is tall.

The sky is wide.

You are small.

You are free.

You are not free.

You look at your hand.

The stain is there.

The dark stain.

It is on your skin.

It is in your blood.

It is in your heart.

You are still the food.

The house is inside you.

The cycle is inside you.

You cannot escape.

You cannot stop.

You must eat.

You must feed.

You must be fed.

You sit in the grass.

The rain begins.

The drops are cold.

They hit your face.

They hit your mouth.

You catch a drop.

It tastes of soup.

It tastes of blood.

It tastes of home.

You drink the rain.

You drink the world.

You drink the cycle.

You close your eyes.

You hear the hum.

It is inside you.

It is your voice.

It is your heart.

It is the house.

You are the house.

You are the bowl.

You are the soup.

You are the spoon.

You are the eater.

You are the eaten.

You are the whole.

You are the nothing.

You are the truth.

The rain stops.

The sun comes out.

The light is bright.

The light is warm.

You open your eyes.

You see a bird.

The bird is white.

The bird is small.

It looks at you.

It has no fear.

It has no hunger.

It has no cycle.

It flies away.

You watch it go.

You feel a pain.

It is a deep pain.

It is a old pain.

It is a new pain.

It is the pain of letting go.

It is the pain of staying.

It is the pain of being.

You do not move.

You do not speak.

You do not think.

You are.

You are enough.

You are the end.

You are the beginning.

You are the middle.

You are the circle.

The circle is closed.

The circle is open.

The circle is you.

The soup is cold.

The soup is gone.

You are gone.

You are here.

The rain begins again.

The rain is warm.

The rain is kind.

The rain is home.

You let it fall.

You let it wash.

You let it clean.

You let it heal.

You let it feed.

You let it die.

You let it live.

You let it be.

The stain fades.

The stain is gone.

The stain is you.

You are clean.

You are dirty.

You are pure.

You are mixed.

You are the soup.

You are the bowl.

You are the table.

You are the room.

You are the house.

You are the field.

You are the rain.

You are the sun.

You are the bird.

You are the silence.

You are the sound.

You are the truth.

The truth is simple.

The truth is you.

The truth is now.

The truth is here.

The truth is done.

The truth is never done.

The truth is always.

The truth is never.

The truth is you.

You close your eyes.

You sleep.

You dream of soup.

The soup is warm.

The soup is good.

The soup is you.

You wake up.

You are in the bed.

The bed is cold.

The room is dark.

The clock is ticking.

It is three o’clock.

You are alone.

You are not alone.

The walls are breathing.

You are hungry.

You are thirsty.

You are tired.

You are alive.

You get up.

You go to the kitchen.

The kitchen is quiet.

The fridge is open.

The light is white.

The jar is there.

The jar is empty.

The jar is full.

You look at your hand.

The stain is there.

The stain is gone.

The stain is you.

You pick up the spoon.

The spoon is cold.

The spoon is warm.

The spoon is you.

You stir the air.

The air is thick.

The air is thin.

The air is you.

You are the detective.

You find the truth.

The truth is you.

The truth is home.

The truth is the bowl.

The bowl is the world.

The world is the bowl.

You are the world.

You are the bowl.

You are the soup.

You are the spoon.

You are the eater.

You are the eaten.

You are the end.

You are the beginning.

You are the middle.

You are the circle.

The circle is closed.

The circle is open.

The circle is you.

The soup is cold.

The soup is gone.

You are gone.

You are here.

The rain begins.

The rain is warm.

The rain is kind.

The rain is home.

You let it fall.

You let it wash.

You let it clean.

You let it heal.

You let it feed.

You let it die.

You let it live.

You let it be.

The stain fades.

The stain is gone.

The stain is you.

You are clean.

You are dirty.

You are pure.

You are mixed.

You are the soup.

You are the bowl.

You are the table.

You are the room.

You are the house.

You are the field.

You are the rain.

You are the sun.

You are the bird.

You are the silence.

You are the sound.

You are the truth.