Hunger (a short story)

So as some of you may know, I'm a man of many talents (ahem), and I'm trying to put all (if not most) of them to good use, like the good servant in that parable.

I wrote an essay for use with my tuition students, but it's enjoyable in its own right, without having to be analyzed to death. So I present to you.....

Hunger (a short, short story, at 603 words)

The guns came into play faster than anyone expected. People were desperate for food, and money had ceased to be meaningful only days before. We were told that a ‘solar event’ had caused 70% of crops all over the world to fail, but to most of us it looked like an act of god – a god that seemed to derive pleasure out of watching people and animals suffer.

                The countries that had legalized the ownership of firearms fell into chaos within days of the news of the crop failures. The entire American continent went from having surplus stocks of Famous Amos cookies to an anarchic battlefield almost instantly. Mexican drug cartels raided their local supermarkets, then crossed the border into the southern United States and continued raiding the supermarkets there. Private American citizens were no match for the Mexican guerilla armies, hardened from decades of combat with the police and rival gangs.

                Here in Singapore, people were significantly calmer. We did rush out, like everyone else, to every supermarket we could, buying as much as we could till the government issued the order for the sale of all food items to cease. There were a few violent riots, surprisingly in the more affluent parts of the island, like in Orchard and Bukit Timah, but most of us went home quietly with what we could buy or steal. Perhaps the rich, so used to getting what they want, so used to living lives of power, could not imagine a world where they could not throw food away at will.

                The horrible mistake that the Singaporean government made, however, was to assume that people would behave the same way they always did, with the same kinds of propaganda we were always fed. The newspapers and television reporters told us that though most of the developed world faced severe food shortages, the huge stockpiles of combat rations the army kept for their soldiers would tide us through until the next few harvests brought the food supply back to what we were used to. Unfortunately, only a few believed the official line, even though food depots were set up to distribute combat rations and the remaining fresh food to everyone around the island.

                The army recalled numerous reservist soldiers. Most of us have, or had, families. All of us had loved ones we wanted to protect. At first, when we were sent out in threes to the food depots to ensure order, things were tense but manageable. A few arrests always had to be made, but full-blown chaos did not come quickly. When things fell apart, however, it fell apart with remarkable speed. People say that the first gunshot was fired by a desperate reservist soldier who wanted more than his fair share of food to feed his pregnant wife. In those days, all of us were hungry, but his hunger drove him to fire his loaded M16 at his other two comrades.

                Now I hold my familiar, oily M16 rifle, guarding my stockpile of food in my home. My elderly parents, my sister, and my five year old dog will have enough to eat, we estimate, for at least a year and a half. The barrel of my rifle is still hot from the rounds that were just fired. It is strange, how heavy thirty rounds can be, when you know that you will eventually have to use them.

Still, this is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is human, even as I am, because it is my life. Like all humans, it too, needs to be fed.