If I ever complimented him on how he looks, I want to take that back.
This guy is practically hyperactive, I often hear small clattering sounds coming from somewhere. After turning my head four or five times due to these noises, I resolved to control this reflex of mine.
He’s just rummaging through his luggage and neurotically organizing things.
He’s changed into a different shirt.
The dirty white one didn’t get tossed into a corner but was hung on the back of a chair, the dirty side facing outward.
I’ve remained sitting on the chair, not moving except for my neck.
I heard the sounds of the rear storage compartment opening and closing, the scraping of items being moved, then a clatter, a gasp, followed by “clang” and “clatter.”
I managed to control my reflex to react to these sounds, but his hissing sound made me turn my head again.
He was rubbing his shoulder, and on the floor was an open small suitcase.
I had no interest in the suitcase and couldn’t get too close to him due to his fresh meat smell, so I glanced out the window.
The foggy window prevented anyone from looking in from the outside, but from the inside, it was barely possible to see outside.
It seems the plane’s soundproofing is quite effective, despite the commotion, it was still quiet outside.
He was nervously looking out the window, and the cabin was rare for its quiet.
After a while, I heard him exhale in relief. When I turned back, he had crouched down and started rummaging through other people’s luggage.
This person is really scary.
But right after I defined him this way, his eyes lit up, and he happily took out something that resembled a chocolate bar.
Well, that’s it.
Can someone remind me why I can’t eat him?
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve imagined rolling my eyes, and now I want to roll them again.
Forget it, he probably hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday, which might be even worse.
Although I’m always hungry, my digestion rate should be slow.
I once had a fat companion who went about two weeks without eating much, and I didn’t see him slim down. I only remember that he eventually starved and perished because he charged too far ahead.
He tore open the wrapper, stood up, walked over to me, and held the thing in front of me.
I don’t eat this thing, to me, it’s like garbage.
So I shook my head, stood up from my seat, and walked around him towards the door.
He chased after me and blocked me, frowning, “Where are you going?”
I wanted to ignore him like yesterday, but I thought that if I didn’t explain, he might really die.
So I made a simple gesture.
I pointed at him, pointed at the seat, pointed at myself, then pointed at the door, and bit my teeth together.
He pursed his lips and stood there unmoving.
If biting him would make him sick and turn him, I wouldn’t mind eating one of his arms.
He had no intention of moving, and I was too impatient to wait for him.
I used the outside of my arm to shove him aside, that side was at least cleaner, so he probably wouldn’t need to change clothes again.
I walked towards the door, hearing his footsteps getting closer and then further away. He grabbed me and said, “I’ll go with you.”
I really want to roll my eyes.
Our food types are different, you see, me eating will affect your appetite.
God, how do I tell him this!
I couldn’t think of a way, so I stubbornly repeated the previous gestures.
He held up the dirty white shirt in his hand, “I can go with you. With this shirt, those guys won’t notice, right?”
In his eyes, it’s you and those guys.
But I am one of those guys.
I shook my head, trying hard to figure out how to express it, then pointed at the door, pointed at myself, walked forward a few steps, then turned back a few steps.
I will come back.
He still shook his head.
I felt I was about to lose control of my appetite.
If I were to have one emotion, it would probably be irritation?
Seeing something but not being able to eat it, hearing sounds but being trapped, such things make us irritable, and both strength and speed are somewhat increased.
I looked at him, and he looked at me, holding the clothes and taking a step closer, sounding a bit aggrieved, “Persi, I won’t leave you.”
Whoever he’s referring to, that person must be dead by now.
What is the relationship between you two?
Why are you so stubbornly following someone like me?
I wanted to frown and speak, but my throat only produced a low whine, unable to form other syllables.
I had to give up.
Then I resolutely repeated all my gestures again. When he tried to follow me, I opened my mouth at him.
I was really very irritated.
I don’t know why I haven’t eaten him yet, I don’t know how I’ve controlled myself. After not biting him for so long, I only know that staying in the same cabin with him is pure torture.
Ah, torture.
Can I even have this emotion?
I turned back, pushed the door open a little, and walked out. I knew he was following me, and when he tried to open the door wider, I used my increased irritation-driven strength to try to push the door back.
His shoulder and one arm were stuck there blocking me, still holding the dirty shirt.
Then he called that name again and again.
Persi, Persi, Persi.
Damn, if he keeps making noise, he might attract the attention of the others outside.
I groaned irritably at him, but the next moment, I felt a sudden clarity in my previously voiceless throat.
“…You…”
Just one word.
I looked at his wide-eyed expression and, seizing the moment, pointed at the cabin and repeated, “You…”
Then I pushed his arm back and closed the door.
I actually managed to say the word “you.”
My level of surprise was no less than his inside.
Not daring to stay here, I stumbled out to the square, my shoulder bumping into a wandering companion.
Then I called out “you” to each passing companion, softly.
What surprised me even more was that a few of them responded.
One of them said “hungry,” and another… seemed to be speaking some Canadian language, or something I didn’t understand.
Maybe we were too noisy, so we all started getting a bit agitated. Some of us wandered off towards the collapsed wall outside. The path must have been uneven because the next moment, those few people fell, and the sound of bricks clattering successfully attracted us.
I didn’t see the person who followed behind.
This is just great.
Leaving the open airport, we didn’t return to a familiar place until about the afternoon.
I remembered because I seemed to vaguely hear the sound of cans shaking.
It was that store.
There were two new companions near there.
How pitiful, one of them had his stomach completely emptied but didn’t have his brain eaten, so he still ended up like this.
I don’t think he’ll ever feel the slightest bit full again.
If I walked a bit further, I would soon see that poster.
I thought that someone who had a poster put up must be a star.
But this time I fell behind.
Distracted by the cans, I ended up staying in the store with a bit of a bloody smell. I didn’t come out with my companions.
I was holding a white, dirty shirt, which he must have dropped when I pushed him back, probably due to surprise.
I wandered alone in the store, and on the ground inside, there seemed to be some fallen canned food.
I couldn’t tell if it was expired, I had no idea what year or month it was now.
But I still picked it up and put it in the shirt.
Then came a clattering sound.
…Why is there such a big hole in this shirt?
I stood there looking at the shirt, with one side having a big hole and the other side having three smaller ones, feeling a bit conflicted.
How do you tie a knot again?
