The cake was too high. Three layers. Cream white as bone.

We were hungry. God, we were hungry.

My name is Eli. I was twelve. Or thirteen. Time stretches when you are starving. It snaps when you are full.

The ballroom was cold. The windows fogged. Outside, the snow fell. It did not stop. It never stopped.

The Mayor stood by the piano. He wore a gray suit. It fit him well. He smiled. His teeth were white. His eyes were wet.

"Happy Birthday, Elias," he said.

I did not answer. I looked at the cake.

The knife was in the Mayor’s hand. It was silver. It was long. It looked like a scalpel.

He cut the first slice. The cream smeared. It looked like blood.

"Make a wish," he whispered.

I closed my eyes.

I wanted the war to end. I wanted the guns to stop. I wanted my father to come home. I wanted the snow to melt.

I opened my eyes.

The Mayor handed me the plate.

"Eat," he said.

I took a bite.

It was sweet. It was rich. It tasted like nothing. It tasted like ash.

I pushed it down. My throat tightened.

"More," he said.

I ate again.

The room was full of people. Men in coats. Women in hats. They watched us. They smiled. They clapped.

I felt sick.

My hands shook.

I looked at my hands. They were pale. They were thin. The veins stood out. Blue lines under the skin.

I looked at the Mayor.

He was watching me. He did not blink.

"Eat, boy," he said.

I ate.

I did not want to die.

I wanted to live.

But I was hungry.

The hunger was a beast. It lived in my belly. It had teeth. It chewed.

I looked around the room.

The chandeliers hung from the ceiling. They were crystal. They sparkled. They looked like ice.

The floor was marble. It was cold. It was hard.

I felt the cold in my feet.

I looked at the Mayor.

He was beautiful. He was kind. He was a monster.

"Thank you," I said.

My voice was small.

He nodded.

He turned to the crowd.

"Another year," he said.

They cheered.

I sat down.

My legs gave way.

I slumped in the chair.

The plate was empty.

The Mayor looked at me.

His face changed.

The smile vanished.

His eyes went hard.

"Stand up," he said.

I tried to stand.

I could not.

My body was lead.

My mind was fog.

I looked at him.

I saw something in his eyes.

Fear.

Not for me.

For himself.

He was afraid.

He was always afraid.

The war was outside.

The snow was outside.

The cold was outside.

But the fear was here.

In the room.

In the air.

It smelled like rust.

It smelled like old blood.

I stood up.

I did not know how.

I did not know why.

I walked to the window.

I looked out.

The snow was falling.

It was thick.

It was heavy.

It covered everything.

It covered the streets.

It covered the cars.

It covered the people.

It covered the dead.

I saw a body.

It lay in the snow.

It was small.

It was a child.

I did not know who it was.

I did not care.

I knew.

I always knew.

The snow does not care.

The war does not care.

The Mayor does not care.

Only I care.

Only I feel the hunger.

I turned around.

The Mayor was gone.

The room was empty.

The cake was gone.

The chair was empty.

The table was bare.

Only the dust remained.

I stood there.

I was alone.

I was still.

I was quiet.

The silence was loud.

It filled my ears.

It filled my head.

It filled my heart.

I felt the hunger again.

It was worse now.

It was sharp.

It was bright.

It was red.

I walked to the door.

It was open.

The hallway was dark.

The walls were long.

The floor was bare.

I walked down the hall.

My shoes made no sound.

My heart made no sound.

My breath made no sound.

I was a ghost.

I was a shadow.

I was nothing.

I reached the end of the hall.

There was a door.

It was black.

It was heavy.

It was locked.

I pushed it.

It did not move.

I pulled it.

It did not move.

I kicked it.

It did not move.

I stopped.

I leaned against the wall.

I slid down.

I sat on the floor.

I put my head in my hands.

I did not cry.

I did not scream.

I did not speak.

I waited.

The hours passed.

The night came.

The moon rose.

It was pale.

It was cold.

It was distant.

I looked at my hands.

They were clean.

They were dry.

They were still.

I looked at my feet.

They were warm.

They were soft.

They were alive.

I looked at the door.

It was still there.

It was still black.

It was still locked.

I stood up.

I walked back to the ballroom.

The cake was there.

The plate was there.

The knife was there.

The Mayor was there.

He was sitting at the table.

He was eating.

He was smiling.

"Eat, boy," he said.

I looked at him.

I did not move.

I did not speak.

I looked at the cake.

I looked at the knife.

I looked at the Mayor.

I understood.

I had always understood.

The cake was not food.

The cake was a trap.

The Mayor was not kind.

The Mayor was a lie.

The war was not outside.

The war was inside.

It was in my stomach.

It was in my blood.

It was in my bones.

I picked up the knife.

The steel was cold.

It felt like ice.

It felt like truth.

I looked at the Mayor.

He stopped eating.

He looked at me.

His eyes were wide.

His mouth was open.

He was afraid.

I was not afraid.

I was calm.

I was still.

I was free.

I raised the knife.

I did not cut the cake.

I cut the air.

I cut the silence.

I cut the fear.

I cut the hunger.

I cut the loop.

The knife fell.

It hit the floor.

It made a sound.

It was a sharp sound.

It was a clear sound.

It was a final sound.

The Mayor screamed.

The room shook.

The walls cracked.

The windows broke.

The snow rushed in.

The cold rushed in.

The death rushed in.

I did not run.

I did not hide.

I did not look back.

I walked out the door.

The snow was deep.

The wind was hard.

The cold was real.

I felt it in my skin.

I felt it in my lungs.

I felt it in my heart.

I walked on.

I did not stop.

I did not look back.

I did not turn around.

I walked into the white.

I walked into the dark.

I walked into the nothing.

I was gone.

I was free.

The hunger was gone.

The fear was gone.

The loop was broken.

The story was over.

The snow fell.

The snow fell.

The snow fell.