Serenity's Hunger

enough to be livable, but never quite comfortable. The carpet in the hallway outside his door was thin and worn from decades of footsteps. The fluorescent lights flickered occ

ee table sat in front of it, usually cluttered with soda cans, takeout containers, and a couple of video game controllers. A

laptop, headphones, and a tangled collection of cables covered the surface like a small electron

wsing the internet or playing games. The refrigerator usually held leftover cartons of noodles, pizza b

n't require him to inter

al chat messages from customers. It was the perfect kind of work for someone like him. Conversations happened through a keyboard

is mind worked fine-sometimes too well-but when conversations started, something in him seemed to

t longer than it should

been. Over time, Tim had simply grown used to staying home instead. It was easier. The one st

ster during a rainstorm. The cat had glared at him with such stubborn attitude that Tim had laughe

d stayed e

ith loud, dramatic meows. Pumpkin had a thick orange coat and a round belly that suggested he enjoyed apartment life far more than his da

of his life that it almost felt normal. Like background noise you eventually stop hearing. He had tried to change things before. Occasionally he pushed himself to go out. Sometimes he would accept invitations from cowor

finishing a game session. The room glowed faintly from the monitor's light. Pumpkin slept nearby, sprawled across the

returning to the living room. The television flickered on, bathing the walls in pale light. Pumpkin

sed. People talked somewhere down the street. La

Tim and the cat. He picked up the

pping the world in quiet darkness. Tim didn't

on