It's not easy being a sideshow geek. Sure, see the country, wow some audiences. But being able to eat anything a person is able to throw at you has it's downsides. Women don't exactly fawn over a man who eats rotten meat. Broken glass does do it's share of damage to the insides, no matter how 'iron' your stomach may be. And when your cheapskate boss knows that you can tolerate even the cheapest of meals... Let's just say suppertime is less then appetizing.
With that last thought in mind, "Eckin the Eater" drummed his nervous fingers against the long ago stripped wood of his dump-salvaged table.
He was hungry again.
One week ago when he had found the still warm remains of Gary, the fatman, his life had been changed. One look at the morbidly obese recluse had generated thoughts of curiosity rather then the usual revulsion. He could remember it clearly, as had for the past seven days.
It hadn't been so much of a social call as an opportunity to gather support against a boss who had cut so many corners in taking care of his acts. Surely, the fatman would have some complaints regarding his newly frequent meals of questionable quality cuts of fatty meat from unknown animals. That and his consistent sides of mashed potatoes laden with cheap butter substitutes. Enough perhaps to sustain his massive form, but hardly what one would call tasty. Rumor has it the meat originated from fattened old circus animals purchased for cheap from traveling shows that had little more to do with their dead than to sell them to unscrupulous entrepreneurs such as his boss. That was the rumor anyway. Perhaps untrue, but viable enough to take to a hungry hungry man such as Gary in hopes of inciting anger and opposition to support his cause.
It was with surprise then that he was greeted with a scene of disturbing quality. Evidently the fatman has been trying to move from his customary position in his oversized easy chair. Victim to his own extreme weight, he had taken a fall, his head slamming neatly on the end of the edge of the nearby table, cracking his skull like an overripe melon, neatly breaking an area above his left temple into a garish crack, complete with an oozing combination of red jelly like fluid and grey matter that could only be assumed was brain.
His initial shock at the scene had quickly been replaced with a sort of awe. How.... delectable it all seemed. The congealing blood, like some raspberry jam. How would it taste? It seemed a lot more appetizing then his usual fare. In all of his years of trying the most unlikely of 'foods', this present scene appeared more... appetizing.
Only a small little taste....
Carefully looking out the window to ensure his solitude, he turned back to the body before him. Slowly he raised a finger to the gaping wound, thinking only of simply tasting the mixture that flowed from the former Gary's head. With a light swipe he took a sample and gently raised it to his quivering mouth.
The taste was exquisite! Rich, sweet and bitter in a combination that defied anything he had tasted before! It was exotic, and forbidden. He could tell no one of this. Must forget it ever happened. Just a little more...
But that was a week ago, and the memory was still there. A clear, vivid memory. He had eaten plenty of animals before both live and long dead, and none had captured his imagination like this.
Eckin's stomach growled and he cast a sidelong glance at his 'dinner'. More dead rats. He wasn't entirely immune to food poisoning, though his gag reflex was essentially non-existent thanks to training. Normally he wouldn't think twice about ingesting such a poor mockery of food. Nourishment was nourishment after all, and he wouldn't have his job if he wasn't able to tolerate it.
But tonight he had little interest in this 'feast'. He had stopped eating about two days ago, save for whatever he ingested in his act. He simply could not stop thinking about the potential delicacies walking about within easy reach.
Surely, no one would miss one of them. One of the local dregs working minimum wage jobs to help around the camp perhaps. Or the tent city he had spied the day before on the edge of town full of forgotten homeless people.
He slowly fingered an ornamental knife given to him as a gift by a performer who had long moved on from this nomadic existence.
Eckin was hungry.