Emotion Eaters

Emotion Eaters
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 522

Jerry clenched his fists tightly, feeling the blood flow through his body like liquid fire. He opened his hands slowly and saw small droplets of blood trickle from the fingernail cuts in his palms.

“I’m so sick of this shit!” he grunted.

He lit another cigarette and poured a tall glass of cheap red wine from the Yalumba cask. The ashtray on his dining room table overflowed with filthy stubs, all from the night before and a few from the morning. While only eight thirty, he began drinking to stop the impending hangover from arriving like a crazy train.

Jerry did not remember why he was full of rage and hatred; it became a companion many years ago, when he moved out of his parent’s place at the tender age of fifteen. Now it was just a way of life and everything that could go wrong seemed to go wrong when it involved Jerry. At least, that’s how he thought about life. He’d tried overdosing on anti-depressants at the age of seventeen, but didn’t take enough to do anything other than make him sleep for three days.

The temperature in the one bedroom flatette dropped, making Jerry shiver from the pit of his belly. It happened quite often in this place and he didn’t understand why. One minute it would be a pleasant twenty one degrees, then the next it dropped to about five to ten. He mashed out the cigarette and grabbed a jacket from the floor. It smelt foul, full of sweat and smoke, but Jerry didn’t notice anymore.
After a few minutes, the temperature rose back to a comfortable level.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jerry said, ripping his jacket off as sweat trickled down his back.

Jerry downed the last of the wine and staggered to the bathroom and ran a bath. He nodded off with a cigarette smouldering in his right hand, not that it would matter as it was only a few inches above the bathwater.

We should put that out, you know, just in case. Said an unseen entity in the flat.
The invisible creature’s partner nodded.

Yes, we can’t lose this one. He’s been a great source of food for years.

The first creature glided across the floor and gently extinguished the cigarette before it reached Jerry’s fingers. It then returned to the doorway and floated by its partner.

It needs something to happen to make it happy, just enough so it will descend back into an intense depressive state.

Yes, its sad emotions are becoming a tad stale and tainted with hate. Next thing you know, Hislack will be around feeding of our pets emotions.

I agree, said the second creature. And every time he gets his claws into these things, they end up killing one of their kind, or themself.

Once he gets hold of them, they never exude sadness again, just hate, said the first creature.

Then what are we supposed to feed on? That emotion can’t sustain us at all.

THE END