Let’s just get to the point, right? Here’s part three of “Hungry Harry,” my prose short for Attic Door Media’s Tales from the Chimeranverse, which you can get online.
Hungry Harry: Part 3
By Mike Connell
New Hope, 1987
“Harry! There’s no more change in the jar. I need to take the bus to meet a new client… You didn’t, did you?” She asked in frustration.
“You did. You did. C’mon, Harry. Don’t eat the money. I know it can’t hurt you, and I know you say it gives you a boost, but we need money!”
“Sorry, Mum,” he said glumly. Rolling a dime around in his mouth.
“I need the cash I’m going to get from this client. She’s going to want to hear what I have to say, but now I have to spend even more on a cab…”
“Sorry, Mum.”
He let out a slightly metallic-smelling toot.
“Oh, Harry… see?” She wrinkled her nose. “The money doesn’t convert as well. The good stuff doesn’t come back out and doesn’t smell, remember? Try to focus on the organic stuff.”
“Okay Mum,” he said, eyeing the fern in the corner. It had a slight yellow tinge.
The spider, on the floor beside it, pulsed red.
“Watcha looking at,” she asked.
“The colors... everything has its color.”
When his power manifested, he was pretty young. Before he could walk, he was sticking things in his mouth. Scared the bejeezus out of his mom, who didn’t know what was going on until the fourth or fifth x-ray, and the technician suggested getting Harry tested. Whatever he was putting in his mouth wasn’t showing up anywhere.
As he got older, around six, he started seeing strange things. Colors. Glows. Shimmers.
Like some Chimaran abilities, Harry’s changed over time. Only slightly. And to no great effect.
But it changed.
He could see… auras. Sense them. When he eventually figured out what they all meant, it kind of changed the game for him.
Harry told his mother about them, but she never really paid too much mind. As a result, neither she, nor he, ever told the ICA.
New Hope, 2015
Where the hell was he? Harry didn’t usually have to wait this long. Sure, he got there early on purpose. To relax. But still… he had shit to do. Might as well have another cigarette.
He loved smoking. While he enjoyed his Chimeran ability (being able to eat anything with no fallout? C’mon), his body reacted to almost anything he put in it. Almost like regular bodily and metabolic functionality. But in high gear. And with little-to-no waste.
Water. Food. Heavy metals. Soft woods. They each affected his energy and mood in different ways. More so than being drunk or getting a hangover. It was hard to explain. Some absorption was amazing. Rushes. Highs. Slow, long burns of energy. His body was super efficient. Almost nothing made him feel bad, per se. But not everything burned as efficiently as others.
Smoking, though? It was the one thing he could put in his body that he couldn’t really feel. Well, he could feel it being drawn in. He could feel it hitting his lungs. But his body wouldn’t do anything with the smoke. His body just left it alone. Probably because there weren’t any redeeming characteristics, but Harry enjoyed it all the same.
Still, even Harry could only smoke so much. He was eager to get going. Itching for what he’d started calling scores. Almost like a druggie, he joked to himself. He needed that next score. Ya.
Joking… that tremor in his hand was no joke.
They were coming on faster and faster. He felt fine now. Had for a good while. Because he’d been able to stock up. But when the reserves got low, he’d be in rough shape. Again.
Getting weirder, right? What’s in store for Harry? What’s he going to eat next? Stay tuned next and maybe you’ll find out…