Community Writing Collaborative 

     Hunger. It is the first sensation I feel when I awake in my cramped bedroom. I’m not surprised. I went to bed hungry after all. My hunger starts off as a light, painful twinge in the deep bowels of my stomach. It’s a mild hindrance. It’s like an annoying sibling (let’s call him Hunger) who will not stop following you around. Hunger’s not speaking or touching you, but it’s just irritating that he’s basically at your heels. What do you want? I yearn to ask. Stop following me around! I want to hiss at him. But this annoyance is something I can ignore, so I push the thoughts of hunger out of my mind and start my morning routine. Downstairs, I look through the fridge and cupboards for food to sustain me for the day. It’s useless. The fridge is empty and all that is in the cupboard is an old box of saltine crackers. I don’t know why I check the cupboard and fridge every morning for food. I’m always left with the same disheartening results. I sometimes like to imagine that one day, I’ll come downstairs to a fridge filled with sweet freshly squeezed juices, juicy rotisserie chicken that burst with the beautiful melody of seasonings, exquisitely flavorful cheeses, crisp green apples that explode with flavorful juices when you take your first bite, and maybe if I’m lucky, a delectable slice of moist chocolate cake that melts in your mouth like ice cream on a warm summer day. When I imagine my dream fridge, I always get depressed and of course, hungrier. I pick up the saltine crackers and shove a few in my mouth. They taste stale and flavorless. It’s as if I shoved a huge chunk of cardboard inside my mouth. Despite how unappetizing they are, I find myself stuffing a few more in my mouth. It’s as if my hands are running on autopilot, trying their best to fill the empty void of my stomach. 

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I’m running late now, so I ditch the saltine crackers and run to the school bus. When I arrive at school, the light painful twinge increases to an occasional pulsing pain, radiating from my stomach to my legs. It’s as if that annoying sibling, Hunger, has begun to occasionally step on the heels of your shoes on purpose. It’s more than irritating now, and I can barely ignore it. Stop it! I want to yell. You’re bothering me. But Hunger just smiles mischievously and continues with his mild abuse. I enter the cafeteria and take my place among the long line of students waiting their turn to purchase breakfast. My mouth waters as I see the cereal packets, juice boxes, bananas, cinnamon rolls, and breakfast sandwiches. I grab a breakfast sandwich, cereal, and orange and place it on my tray. I can almost imagine how satisfying it will be to sink my teeth into the hot sandwich. To taste the sweet nectar of the orange juice flow down my throat. Maybe I’ll save the cereal for snack time, so I won’t be too hungry when it’s lunch time. Just thinking about the food I’m about the eat gets me excited. I’m finding it hard to contain the bouncing of my leg as I get closer to the register. In a few more minutes, I’ll be rid of you! I proclaim triumphantly at Hunger. He huffs out in annoyance and begins to turning around, preparing to walk away and accept his impending defeat. I grin internally at my victory.

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 When I get to the register, the lunch lady punches a few buttons on her screen and then harshly barks out “$3.90 is your total.” I rummage through my backpack for the spare change I keep stored for my meals at school. All I can find is 8 quarters, 2 dimes, and a penny. “No. No, there must be more money.” I whisper to myself as panic beings to slither through my body. I can feel Hunger turning back around to face me. I can see the demonic grin beginning to slowly take shape on his face. He knows he hasn’t lost yet.  The lunch lady sighs impatiently as I frantically look through all my backpack pockets. I’m only able to find one more quarter. “There’s other people in line.” the lunch lady hisses at me. “I-I’m sorry. I only have this much.” Usually, I qualify for free meals, but since this is the beginning of the school year the forms have not been processed yet. It takes at least 2 weeks for a free meal form to process, and that’s only if you were smart enough to turn in your forms early. I unfortunately finally got my forms in last week, meaning I had at least 1 more week before I could start receiving free meals. “If you don’t have the money, I can’t give you the food. Tell your parents to refill your lunch account.” The lunch lady dismisses me with a shake of her head, grabbing my salvation out of my hands and basically pushing me out of line as she calls the next student. The sickening feeling of shame and embarrassment begins to crawl up my throat, making me feel physically ill. I can feel the eyes of my peers boring into my back. “They all saw what just happened. The whole school is going to be talking about you by lunch time.” Hunger giggles.  I can hear their thoughts loud and clear in my mind. “They think you’re a helpless broke girl. Nobody wants to be friends with a broke girl.” Hunger gleefully remarks. I can smell the shameful sent of their pity. “They probably think you’re homeless now. They probably think you live in a shelter.” Hunger cackles. I hurry out of the cafeteria, tears of frustration threatening to spill out of my eyes. It’s at this moment that Hunger decides to increase his abuse. At this point, he’s actively pinching my arms and kicking my shins with hard, painful kicks. I want to moan in pain of how bad I feel. I just want to eat something. All I can concentrate on is food, and school hasn’t even begun. 

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During my math class, my teacher rattles on about fractions, equations, and a quiz coming up tomorrow. I try so hard to pay attention to what he’s teaching, but I can barely comprehend one sentence that comes out of his mouth. All I can think about is food. All I care about is food. I feel like someone is drilling a jackhammer into my head. Feeling faint, I lie my head on my desk. Maybe lying down will cure my headache. Maybe it will take my thoughts away from food. My math teacher, unfortunately, does not take kindly to students resting their heads on the desk. He tells me the classroom is not a bedroom. He threatens to send me to detention if I do it again. But all I want to do is scream and hit at him. Honestly, I want to scream and hit everyone. All the students laugh too loud. All the teachers meddle in my business too much. I just want to be left alone and try to concentrate on holding my hunger at bay. 

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 I don’t attempt to stand in line to get lunch. I won’t be embarrassed like I was this morning. I’m able to get a few chips and a cookie from a few of my friends who were kind enough to share their lunches with me. I’m grateful but eating the measly portion of food just increases my hunger. During recess, I sit in the shade, huddled in a corner, watching all the kids run around excitedly. They had the privilege of obtaining energy from their lunches. I, on the other hand, I am fighting the feeling of fainting. When I think of the kids that don’t have to worry about where their next meal will come from, I get angry. So angry that I want to kick something. Anything. Why do they get to live a life where their bellies are constantly full, their minds are sharp and alert, and they’re worry free? Why do I have to suffer? It’s not fair. 

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 I’ve been staring at a tall, green oak tree for about 12 minutes now, and as each minute ticks by, it gets blurrier. My head feels like it’s deciding whether to submerge itself underwater or not, except in this scenario, my head debating whether to dive into unconsciousness instead of water. Hunger is right by my side, punching me relentlessly in the stomach while screaming like a banshee directly in my ear. I’ve lost the willpower to fight Hunger. There’s nothing I can do to keep him away now. I feel sick, like I’m about to throw up. But there’s nothing in my stomach to expel in the first place. A recess aide marches up to me and informs me that I must get out of the shade and play.  I can’t imagine anything worse right now than running around in the heat with an empty stomach, so I shake my head in refusal. She tells me I must to follow her instructions, or she’ll send me to after-school detention. “So?” I sneer “I don’t care.”  And it’s true. I don’t.