I stole someone’s Doordash order. I think it was poisoned.

Listen! I’m not a bad guy! I was just really, really hungry. And broke. And the bitch didn’t tip.  

I had been out dashing every day this bitch ordered her food. Every day for lunch, she’d get fried chicken from this small place down the street from where she lived. She’d get it with all the good stuff, mashed potatoes, green beans, potato wedges, coleslaw… god just typing it out makes me hungry again.  

Again, I don’t think I’m a bad person for stealing one meal. I picked up the order, I said she didn’t answer the door while I parked a bit down the street and dug in. All she had to do was say she didn’t get it and she’d get refunded anyway! I’m not the bad guy here!  

God, it was so damn good too. Just as good as it smelled. The fried chicken was to die for, nice and crispy skin, juicy meat… mashed potatoes perfectly smooth… the green beans had little bacon bits mixed in… I hadn’t eaten that good in weeks.  

But I guess there’s really no such thing as a free lunch.  

It started the day after I had my stolen lunch. I was no longer allowed to dash, apparently the bitch whined to the site and I’d been a mediocre dasher in the first place, so they pulled my dashing privileges. No more stealing meals for me.

I was starving though. So I heated up some pizza rolls. And then some more pizza rolls. And then I finished off the fifty count bag I’d just gotten the day before. And I was still hungry so I warmed up a few bean burritos too. I chowed down on those while I played some League with my friends, and they got bitchy about me chewing loudly on mic so I had to mute myself. We lost like every match because of lack of communication, but I was hungry!  

And I still was, after the burritos, and some frozen pizzas, and I even dug into the dark recesses of the cupboard and had some canned corned beef hash. I only stopped when I started feeling sick. I think my stomach was a little distended from all the food I crammed into it, but I couldn’t help it. I was just. So hungry. And I still felt like I could fit more in.  

Over the next week I ended up cleaning out my cupboards. I went through all my peanut butter, my rice, my ramen. Staples for when you’re broke like I am. If I wasn’t eating, I was bitching about how hungry I was. I couldn’t even focus on classwork without having a granola bar to chew on. I mean, I already have trouble focusing on classwork, but you know what it’s like when you’re hungry. All you can think about is your stomach.  

I ended up just going and getting my own order of chicken from the restaurant I’d stolen from in the first place. I ordered everything the bitch did. The guy up front cracked a joke about the party I had to be going to, but I just gave him a dirty look and practically bolted to my car with my feast. I didn’t even bother leaving the parking lot before I ripped open the bag and started chowing down. I looked like a pig, I knew I attracted some looks from the staff inside as I ate. I literally tipped up the tub of mashed potatoes and poured it down my throat, gravy dripping down my chin as I gulped down the goodness.  

On the way home, I was chewing on the chicken bones. Even after all that, I was still so, so hungry. I’ve maxed out my credit cards on groceries and take out. I literally broke into my neighboring apartment and snatched the pot roast off the counter. From what I heard, they blamed the dog. As long as they didn’t blame me, I was fine.  

The hunger was bad enough. It’s exhausting, you know, being hungry all the time. All I can think about for more than three seconds is when I’m going to eat next. But then about four days ago I woke up and I was covered in hair. Like I wasn’t a hairy guy before, but its now thick as fur from the neck down. I tried shaving the more obvious away but by the end of the day it was back.  

I obviously had to stop going to class. I don’t know how it took me so long to realize how different I look, but that explains why a few of my friends kept asking if I felt okay. I should be looking like I belong on ‘My Six Hundred Pound Life’, but I don’t. I’ve actually lost weight. I can count my ribs, I’ve never been able to do that before. My skin’s gone from a little pasty to practically gray, and my face looks like a famine victim’s, all emaciated and shit.

I was near the breaking point when I decided to seek out the bitch. Yeah, I was going to visit the woman who was supposed to get the food I stole.  

I mean, I would’ve, if I didn’t get there and found out she’d been arrested.  

Her neighbor Hazel was more than informative, and thankfully the old bat was just happy to have someone to talk to so she didn’t ask why I was wearing a turtleneck and a hoodie in sixty five degree weather. Mila, that’s the bitch’s real name, she’d always been an introvert, but she went full on hermit over the past few weeks. She’d even stopped leaving her house, but a lot of cars apparently came to her, and every week the garbage would be filled with take out boxes.  

Then Mila attacked the pizza delivery guy. Hazel had just been dozing off to some odd game show when someone frantically pounding on the door woke her up. Hazel opened up and the poor dude nearly bowled her over in an attempt to escape from the borderline rabid Mila. They slammed the door in her face and Mila threw herself against it several times before screeching like a banshee and taking off back to her own house. Hazel nearly had a heart attack when she saw how much blood was pouring from pizza guy’s face.  

The guy told her everything while Hazel called 911. Mila had insisted that he stay right there while she made sure he didn’t take anything, and unluckily for him she thought there was a missing bread stick. The guy tried to calm her down, told her to just call the parlor and see if she could get a replacement or a refund, but she just lunged at him. Ripped off a good chunk off his cheek and his right ear was just completely gone.

The cops came and took her away, Pizza Guy was whooshed off in an ambulance, and now I was left with an unsettling feeling in my stomach that it may have been a little bit my fault that Pizza Guy got mauled by a hangry bitch with the munchies.  

I want to believe there’s a good, normal explanation for all this, but when I woke up this morning to antlers sprouting out of my forehead, I think I nearly lost my shit. All I could do was laugh and stare at how fucking stupid I looked, an emaciated freak with sunken, crazy eyes, furry chest and arms, and now I had horns.

I finally went to the chicken place this morning, with a well angled hat and scarf to hide my freakishness. I was surprised to walk in though and see one of the owners up front. I asked him what was up and I think I got the final piece of the puzzle.  

See, there was always the same guy up front when I picked up orders. Gus, or something, I’m a bit disoriented from low blood sugar so names are tricky. Apparently one of the other workers caught Gus sprinkling something a little extra in the seasoning. He refused to explain what it was, just that it added a little kick to the flavor and made people crave fried chicken even more.  

Of course, Gus was fired for tampering with food because he wouldn’t explain what the seasoning was and refused to let anyone take it for testing. They couldn’t tell me where he went or where I could find him. He’s gone with the wind, him and his special seasonings.

I did take an order of chicken home, but I gotta be honest, there is definitely something missing now that Gus’ secret ingredient is no longer apart of the recipe.  

I’m so hungry.  

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