THE MUNCHIES

"When you're hungry, everything tastes good..." - John Witherspoon

It was two in the morning, maybe three, when I woke up - fully alert within moments and not even the slightest bit drowsy from having just been asleep, because what had started as ripples of hunger were now becoming immense waves and were crashing towards my mind telling me I needed to eat.

I had some water beside my bed which I slowly took a few mouthfuls of, hoping it would appease my stomach long enough for me to drift back to sleep - but it only offered a fleeting sense of satisfaction, and after a few more minutes of restlessness it became clear the urge for nourishment was going to be impossible to resist.

Acquiring the food was not going to be easy, though. It would have to be done quietly and in the dark. It had to be a secret. She was already concerned about my weight and trying to ensure I ate smaller portions. It was for my own good, she said. For my health. No more snacking.

But one way or another, I was going to make sure my appetite was sated.

Cautiously, hoping not to disturb her, I crept towards the kitchen and soon found myself stood in front of the fridge.

I was already salivating as I pulled the door open and the various aromas of the contents inside began to fill my nostrils. It was almost overwhelming. Too many glorious scents at once.

I had to sit down to truly take it all in and fully appreciate what I was looking at. So after getting myself as comfortable as I could on the cool linoleum, illuminated by the soft light emanating from the fridge, I stared at the smorgasbord before me, contemplating where to begin and trying to decide what I was in the mood for.

The remnants of a takeaway from last night. Some thinly sliced sandwich meats. Fresh blueberries and an apple pie. It all looked so inviting.

But there on the middle shelf was the real prize: a plate of cooked cocktail sausages, ready for a dinner party.

There were fourteen. No, fifteen.

Did she know there were fifteen? Would she notice if there were only twelve? Or ten?

I licked my lips.

And just as I was about to reach out and claim a few morsels of precious sustenance, the kitchen light went on and she appeared behind me.

"Benji!" she chided, in a groggy, half-asleep voice, "You shouldn't be in there. Those things aren't for you."

And after slamming the fridge door closed, she grabbed me by my collar and started pulling me back towards my bed...