Food for Thought – by Michaela Kindlon, age 14

Eddie lay by the bank with a lady by his side.

The water gleamed and glistened as the sun’s rays ran their fingertips along the top of the lake. The lady, his dear wife Maggie, lay with her head on his lap, her long brown hair crammed back into tight braids on either side of her head.

They had wed and bought a cottage by the lake a couple of weeks before, and Maggie was already with child. Eddie, the soon-to-be father, had no education and no job, so was left with no other option but to fish for their food for a living.

“I’m starving,’’ Maggie said, standing up to brush down her long, ragged apron, feeling the tiny bump that was forming underneath as she did so. “I’m off to fetch the last ration of bread from the cottage. Would you like some, love?’’

Eddie looked up at his beautiful wife, already thinner than she should be. “No, thanks, Maggie. You save it for yourself for tomorrow.’’

Days passed and Eddie caught nothing. With Maggie’s bump getting bigger and the food ration getting smaller, he began to worry. “I’ll catch something today,” he thought to himself every morning as he set off down the hill to the lake with his shabby fishing rod. “I’ll catch a rainbow trout or a huge catfish!” he’d say, more optimistic than he had any right to be. But of course, each day he returned home empty-handed, only to be greeted with a sigh from Maggie, who wouldn’t eat for yet another day.

Weeks passed, and the ration cards with them.

One day, as Maggie sat by Eddie’s side, staring at the fishing rod, she turned to him and said with eyes full of hunger and sadness, “Eddie, I think we should ask Michael a couple of miles west for some carrots from his farm. Or maybe some milk from his cows. He’s a lovely chap, I’m sure he wouldn’t even want us to pay. We really could use some help right now Eddie because . . .”

Eddie stood up, starting Maggie, his chest swelling with pride. “NO! Don’t be daft, you stupid woman! We can’t ask him for help! We don’t need help! We don’t need pity!’’

Maggie sighed, rising up from the bank, and walked up the hill to the cottage without another word, little bumps visibly sticking out of her back to reveal her spine.

Lately, Eddie found that he could barely wake up in the morning to head to the lake, he was so tired and weak from hunger. To save him the trip, he decided he’d just camp down by the bank for a few days.

“You know what Maggie? I’ve figured it out! The bleedin’ stupid fish are coming out at night! I’ll catch dozens now, you just wait and see!’’ And so Maggie waited. Eddie went several nights without sleeping, staring at the darkness of the water, until one night, he noticed a tiny tug on his rod. He leaped up from the rock he was sitting on and pulled the rod in to the shore with all his might. A tiny trout lay in front of him in the grass. He picked it up and half-ran, half-crawled up the cottage. He wept with joy as he and Maggie ate trout with oatmeal for supper

“My luck is looking up, I tell ya, love,’’ Eddie said, as he finished off his trout, his stomach roaring for more. Maggie smiled at him affectionately and nodded.

That Christmas eve, Maggie gave birth to a baby girl, who they named Saoirse. She had huge green eyes and jet-black hair, just like her father. She was a little miracle, Maggie knew. And keeping her alive would be yet another miracle.

So Maggie began to steal from their neighbour’s cabbage patch to feed her and Saoirse. Weeks went by, but the cabbage just wasn’t enough, and of course, Eddie was still to catch another fish.

On the embankment of the river, Eddie, who was still young at 26, was already losing all his hair. It came out in clumps, which you could see scattered all along his fishing spot. He had caught one fish since the tiny trout six months ago. He no longer left his post at the rock by the lake, not even for dinner. He would eat only every second or third day, so there was more for Maggie and the baby. Maggie would bring the cabbage and grain down to Eddie and leave it next to him without a word. He slept rarely, wanting always to be alert, watching his fishing rod for any signs of a catch. His hands were stiff and blistered from never removing them from the rod. He was barely able to move, not that he wanted to. Eddie never changed his clothes or washed, and his bones protruded out from behind thin rags. No matter the weather, or what Maggie said, he never left the bank.

And that’s when he began to see things. He watched as Saoirse drowned in the river. He saw Maggie starving by his side. He gazed longingly at a million different fish prancing along the water, calling his name. Mocking him.

Spring came, bringing with it flowers and warm sun. Eddie had not moved much the last few months, and he had caught nothing since the small trout before Christmas. Maggie no longer checked on him, nor did she bring Saoirse down to visit. He hadn’t spoken to anyone but himself in weeks. He talked to himself non-stop, mostly saying the same things over and over, like a chant. “I’ll catch one today. A big one. The biggest Saoirse has ever seen. Saoirse. Maggie. Saoirse. Maggie.” And since no one brought him food, he began to eat the nearby grass and plants.

Until one day, he finally realised that he could no longer hear Saoirse laughing and playing like he often did. For days he sat and listened out for any sounds of his child and wife. But nothing. And then, after all that time, he began to move. It took him hours to get his stiff muscles to work again, but when he did, he dragged his frail and weak body up the hill.

The house looked different somehow, emptier. He made his way inside. And, to no surprise to anyone but himself, the place was vacant. All that was left was a photograph on the small fireplace. It was covered in dust, but quickly Eddie wiped it off and stared into the faces of his beloved wife and child.

They were standing in a field a few miles from the cottage. And they were not alone. There was another figure in the picture. It was a man. He had his arm wrapped around Maggie’s waist.

Beautiful Maggie, his dear wife. Her hair was shorter, and she looked happier. With Michael wrapped around her.

It took a few moments for Eddie to realise what he was looking at. They left to be with Michael. His wife and baby.

He didn’t feel anything at all.

They were simply gone.

Eddie walked back to the bank and sat on the rock. He picked up his fishing rod with his right hand and reached out with his left for a handful of grass or weeds, but everything in reach was pulled from the roots already.

He sat silently by the banks and mulled over his dilemma. He needed to eat. He was desperate to eat. But he was just so numb.

So he took a chunk from his right arm. It wasn’t what he expected. It was thick, chewy, and the blood poured all over his almost-bare legs.

He couldn’t feel a thing, only the need for food. So he just kept gnawing down on his body. First his fingers, nails and all. Grabbing the tip of his nail with his teeth and ripping it clean off, leaving the flesh exposed to the warm air.

Then he continued until he reached bone.

He was bleeding.

He couldn’t stop.

He was laughing.

He couldn’t stop.

He was chanting.

He couldn’t stop.

Maggie. Saoirse. Maggie. Saoirse. Maggie. Saoirse. Maggie. Saoirse. Maggie. Saoirse. Maggie. Saoirse. Maggie. Saoirse. Maggie come home. Maggie please.