The Ravenous

By Hanna Whipps

On their grizzly couch beside the window, with tears repaired with shoddy patchwork and red thread, Rick used Tony’s fur like a throw blanket, melting into the warmth he radiated as he slept. For hours, little Tony laid peacefully sprawled across Rick’s chest, each pair of his gangly legs bumping up and down with each breath he took. Through the curtains, the sky rose. Lights flicked on, cars pulled out of driveways. Rick devolved himself to the comfort of living in the solitude of Tony’s snores and the gentle hum of the radiator—calm, peace. Still, as the world around them seemed to wake, he sensed their rest was coming to an abrupt close. 

  In the distance, the booming grumble of a beast emerged. Rick could feel the ground beneath him quiver in fear. Like every week, when this ravenous beast visited his street, it came hungry. Starved, empty, seeking to fill itself up with anything and everything. The monster had no other purpose but to consume. 

  Rick had already put out his tax—scraps of orange peels, stale shortbread cookies, a carton of spoiled milk, all things unwanted. Many things it devours he wouldn’t consider food at all: his busted pair of kicks, empty cans of soda pop, and a mountainous layer of failed paper cranes. Things that would stack up in his house like clutter; things that would rot and mold and lay to waste. Usually, the unwanted. 

But today it’d take from Rick a rare serenity he may never have again. Like a prized childhood doll, or his grandmother’s ring. A winning lottery ticket, for heaven’s sake, all greedily taken by this monster—stolen indiscriminately from the piles and piles of trash it takes with it. Tony—quiet! Finally quiet! When did the mutt ever shut his trap? 

Rick could never forgive the ignorance of the beast, how it took and took without a thought to what people like him lost. 

Coming to a halt out front the street, a clear view from the window, the beast’s men were already shuffling off its side and grabbing ahold of their neighbors' offerings. Rick peeked over his faux blanket, catching as Tony’s ears twisted towards the noise. The dog jolted awake, firmly planting his hind legs on top of Rick's chest and front paws along the edge of the windowsill. On top of him, he lunged over the window and howled with all his might, hating the beast as much as Rick did that moment. 

“Damnit, Tony!” he cried, shoving him onto the floor. Although no longer an inch from his ear, Tony’s barking shook Rick’s pounding head no less. Such a loud, noisy thing, little Tony!  With time, the truck passed. And as if he hadn’t just been screeching with all his might, Tony settled and scurried off to the back door, already whining to relieve himself. 

Rick sighed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Night moved on to day, Tony moved on from slumber to his yappy shenanigans, and even the beast moved on to breakfast. That must be, Rick supposed, a call to move on too. 

Still, had it not been for the ravenous beast, how its hunger was hardly ever kept at bay, or if it just weren’t a Wednesday, Rick would’ve slept an awful lot longer!