It's Mealtime
It was something strange. Something had a grotesque thing draped over it.
Strange.
It ate. Eaten, the thing vanished.
This had never happened before. What it had eaten was still alive. Impossible. To eat was everything. The whole. Life itself.
A mistake? A delusion? Do that, and you die. Fail at it, and you do not stay alive. You twist, and become food for some other creature. It did not neglect anything bound directly to its life.
Then how was this still alive?
A question. A suspicion. Disbelief. Doubt. It could not define what was happening. Not even the things it feared had ever done this.
Was this thing alive?
"You. Die."
It decided. It would kill. It would not eat. It had failed to eat, and that meant this was something that could not be eaten. It had to die. A mistake must not be left walking around.
"How unexpected."
The grotesque thing stretched and stretched, spreading through the surroundings like rubber, or like paint. Something black stole from the world, one thing after another. Color ceased to be color. Light ceased to be light. Existence ceased to be existence. Everything turned grotesque.
"I did not think you were the sort to say such a thing."
A white shape drifting in the empty air was the one that spoke.
"You. Cannot. Be. Eaten."
"I would not go quite that far..."
It was not fooled. It saw a different world. It did not depend on sight. Grotesque as the thing was, it did not register that grotesquerie as grotesque. The world that thing perceived was false from the very premise. Tricks of this sort would never work.
"Die."
It smashed the white thing. Fragments pattered down and vanished, as if melting away. Not dead yet. Irritating. It still had to taste Infinite Life, and the time left for tasting was running short.
It considered. The grotesque thing could not be eaten. What if it ate, and then spat it out? Then there would be no problem. It would ruin its palate, but that was better than mealtime growing shorter.
Eat.
It felt the space steeped in grotesquerie. Sticky. Deceit upon deceit. Concealment upon concealment. Merely sensing it was exhausting. It cleared the unpleasant thing away—from the arm, from the back, from the hand, from the leg, from the foot, from the face. Mouths formed. The jutting mouths split open: teeth like awls, teeth twisted out of shape, teeth mashed flat. Each set of teeth bared itself.
The teeth meant to eat, but as if something interfered, they could not bite down.
"Eat."
It swept that interference aside. The teeth chewed empty air. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The sound of paper crumpling. The sound of skin being pulped. The sound of iron caught between teeth. Hundreds of sounds poured from the mouths. They closed, and they opened. That alone, over and over. The mouths ate the space the way one folds paper and eats it.
The grotesque thing began to disappear. Existence returned. Light returned. Color returned. The world came back to what it had been, and there was Infinite Life, crouched low.
"Ah. Ah."
Rapture. Was the Ideal World it pursued something like that? How delicious would it be? Spit out what had been eaten, and fill the belly with that life.
Kek. Kek. Kek. Kek. Kek. Kek. What was that sound? Coughing. A throat scraped raw. Blood being spat. Where was it coming from?
"Urk!"
Something climbed up out of the mouth. It tried to swallow it back down. No—it could not swallow.
"You must not spit out what you have eaten."
The grotesque thing clamped the mouth shut.
"Mmph—mmph!!!"
"Chew it thoroughly. It is good for the body."
It must not eat this. It was not what it had sensed. This was not something that could be eaten for only a moment.
"The other mouths must chew thoroughly as well."
The cough in the arm was stopped. The blood in the back was stopped. The throat of the body was stopped—legs, face, feet, all of them stopped. It surged back the other way. Something it could not understand broke the body, rebounded and rebounded, and swelled. Full. The body filled. This was more than the body could bear. It had to vomit, now. Otherwise it would reach all the way to where its essence lay.
"No!!!"
It detonated. It forced a breach. Black poured from the mouth, running thick as tar.
"A shame."
The grotesque thing drew back.
"I prepared it with such care, but it seems it was not to your taste."
The grotesque thing laid a cloth across its hand. A mouth was embroidered on the cloth.
"That is quite all right."
The cloth opened. Inside lay a steak seared to a perfect brown, a beautiful steak with juices running in streams.
"There is plenty of food."
Covered, then opened. Golden chicken, shining like the sun.
"I would not say I am good at cooking."
The cloth came down. The mouth upon it yawned. Munch. Munch.
"But it ought to be edible."
Pop. The cloth burst, and the food lay revealed.
"Please enjoy."
The food was a small tree. The bark was red and rotten. Not a leaf clung to the branches. A tree in the act of dying.
"Here you are."
The grotesque thing held the tree out. It looked at the tree and trembled.
"You..."
"Whatever is the matter?"
The grotesque thing pinched a branch and snapped it. Crunch. Crunch. The branch was eaten. Eaten, and gone.
"Delicious, is it not?"
"How. Dare!"
It tore the tree apart. It tore the grotesque thing's arm. Blood pattered down.
"You are a terribly picky eater."
"Graaaaah!"
It would not let this go. It tore the legs. It tore the throat. It tore the innards. It even ripped out the heart.
"I. Will. Eat!"
Something that must not be eaten? Nonsense. There could be no such thing as a thing that could not be eaten. Chomp. Chomp. It chewed the arm. Flesh, blood, bone, down the throat. Vile. A taste that simply could not be eaten. The blood clung to the throat. The bone was like sand. The flesh was like gutter water.
"Urk!"
It swallowed back down what rose. It did not spit. It digested. Digested, and made the thing part of itself. I am the apex of predators. I am the one who takes life as my root. I am the one who eats even stars.
It ate the legs. It ate the innards. It wet its throat with the heart. At the end, only a white head remained.
"Ngh!"
Its insides heaved. Its head spun. It felt about to collapse. But it held. Look. See who stands at the end. The one who won is me.
"Is it to your liking?"
"Wh... at?"
The white head spoke. A black dot stared at it.
"You eat so well. That pleases me too."
The black part of the white head tore open in a long split.
"Shall I prepare the next course, then?"
"Next...?"
No. Don't give me any more.
A shadow fell from above. The grotesque thing was holding a plate, and on the plate sat a boiled egg.
"Plain, but delicious."
"Aaaah!!!"
The mouth was forced open. The egg was shoved in.
"Next is this."
"D... on't...!"
Beside the grotesque thing, another grotesque thing appeared and pushed in a fish.
"There is still a great deal."
It looked, and saw a white tide filling the whole place, every one of them waiting with a plate in hand.
All of that? I can't eat it. I can't eat that.
It forced its mouth shut. Countless hands reached toward it and opened the mouths growing over its body. Food of every kind poured in. Eat. Eat. Eat. Eaten by force. A paradise of food. No—a hell. It could not flee. It could not sever the connection.
"Urgh... ghk... ngh..."
Save me. It reached out a hand. Anyone. Please.
"I am afraid not. There is still some left."
Aaaah! The sky was veiled in white, and across that white sky black dots were stamped without number.
"There, there. Down it goes."
It poured—a downpour, an agony that had to be drunk.
"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!"
How much time had passed. How much it had eaten. It could not so much as twitch a finger.
Clap. Clap.
"Congratulations. You have finished all of that."
Every grotesque thing blessed it.
"Well done."
"You have worked so hard."
"As expected of one who eats all things."
Praise. Cheers. Reverence. For a while, only applause rang out.
It feared them. What were they? What were they, to serve something that could not be eaten? This could not be. It was impossible. I will have my revenge. If I go back—without fail!
"Then I shall collect payment."
...Payment?
"Payment, put another way, is the price."
One of the grotesque things explained, kindly.
"You have eaten the banquet I prepared. Should you not pay a fitting price?"
Wait.
"Surely you do not have nothing?"
One of the grotesque things waved a slip of paper.
"Do you not have paper like this? It is only one dollar."
"Coin is acceptable as well."
"We also accept precious metals."
What are they saying? What is that?
"You do not have any, do you."
"This is a problem."
"Try to think of anything. Anything at all."
The black dots narrowed. The dots curved. The grotesque things smiled. They were expecting something.
"Kkh... kuhk..."
It tried to force out any words at all. It could not. Those eyes. That expectation. It was the same expectation it always held itself. It must not become that...
A gurgle, heard without meaning to. The sound came from the grotesque things. Gurgle. Gurgle. Gurgle. As if contagious, it spread in every direction. It knew that sound. Hunger. It knew hunger better than anyone.
One of the grotesque things snapped its fingers. A vast table appeared, and it was laid upon that table. The grotesque thing tied a cloth around its neck.
"If you have no payment, I shall collect it this way."
Figures took their places at the table. Every one of them had a cloth about the neck. The meal was ready. Today's meal was it.
"Don't. Don't."
Its throat closed. Water spilled from its eyes. Please. Don't.
"Then we shall begin the meal."
They closed in. Countless hands seized every part of the body.
"Aaaaaah!"
"Well, then."
Crunch!