The Iraqi sun slides behind rippled desert dunes, a vibrant blue sky fading to charcoal grey with a perfect, pinprick moon in the velvety smoothness of night. Celestial change overcomes the alert American Base, alive with the ant-like scurrying of displaced child-soldiers, thousands of confused miles from impoverished homes, forgotten towns. Chills triggered by crisp nocturnal gusts, bullet-proof flack powerless to prevent deep, penetrating malaise, dehumanising and soul-sapping. Wide-eyed, loose helmets slipping and shaking from shaven skulls, the sleep deprived armed forces run and race, buzzing from unexpected explosions and unannounced gunfire.
“Iraqi gorilla forces, sir. Presumed force is large, sir. Entire east defence destroyed, sir.”
Gloop and glob, sticky and staining. A twirl of barbed-wire fence protrudes violently, among dead uniformed limbs and indefinable rubble, from thick black death, total, endless and unforgiving, patient and focused. The flabby, recognisable shape of an arm drips and spits, extends from Hungers torso, Hungers swelled stomach. A dark sucking arm, absolute black as if it gorged light, sweeps through whistling winds, snatching a screaming soldier, motherless son, who bends and breaks, dances and dies, twists and corkscrews into Hungers gaping palm. Ripples echo through green night visors, white flashes of M-90 barrels, bullets burn into Hunger who slurps and swaggers, receiving the gifts thanklessly, fuelled and feeding.
"Bring out the big guns fellas. There ain't no flies on this shit."
Dust kicks and licks, clothes flap and flick, and above Hunger slice angry blades cutting air, flouting gravity, a Black Hawk helicopter dodging and diving, swathing the base in Iraqi sand. Precise aim, trained finger, eruptions of light and sound, thousands of rounds, sleek oiled mini-gun bolted to the chopper puking it's rage, determined to end Hunger, to liquefy the oily beast. Bullets bounce, rounds ricochet, Hunger gobbles projectile pellets, entering it's front and extending it's back, a rubber rump peaking and prodding, dripping and drooping, extending like a trampoline bouncing lead into a cartoon chasm. Unstoppable. Permanent.
"Step aside men. Get out of his way."
Tree trunk feet drag greasy trails, gritty and sticky, unforgiving to bare touch, forward into the perpetual night. The Hunger trickles and stickles through ammo supplies and giant warehouses enclosing military machinery, enveloping bricks and breasts, guns and guts. Thoughtless and without motivation, onward motion into dark horizon, restless and empty, perfect and formless, Hunger is forever, Hunger is timeless.