The Hunger Of Karma

 

A professional book cover titled "The Hunger of Karma" by Douye Soroh. The image features a glowing God of Karma with long golden hair and ten gold rings standing in a dark warehouse. Below him, two desperate men surrender a bag of food as zombies lurk in the background shadows.

"In this dark comedy short story, Harry discovers that surviving a zombie apocalypse is nothing compared to dealing with his cursed best friend.

The Karma of the Warehouse

It had been a frustrating year for Harry. He was broke and wondering how he’d survive the holidays. He spent his days scouring the internet for the cheapest ways to get by until he stumbled upon a book titled How To Live For A Month On $2. He sat upright with a grin. "This is it! Exactly what I’ve been looking for. Two bucks for a whole month!"

His smile quickly faded. "Wait, that’s a problem," he muttered. "I can’t even afford the two bucks, and the book itself costs $10!" He growled in frustration. "This is insane. How can you sell a book about living on $2 for $10? This guy is just trying to rip off broke guys like me."

He turned the book over to find the author, but it was published anonymously with only a crypto wallet listed for payment. He sighed, wondering how he’d make it through the day. He thought about calling his parents for help but shook his head. "Can't do it. They have their own problems. I’m supposed to be looking out for them, not over-burdening them again."

Suddenly, his phone pinged. The message read: Come to the warehouse now.

Harry rushed over. When he arrived, he found his buddy Paul sweating like a pig. Paul was a big guy with small eyes and a greedy streak—he never shared his food. Harry often wondered if Paul was a bad omen; every time Paul did something "nice," trouble was sure to follow.

"Hey!" Harry called out.

"Harry! Good of you to join me," Paul said, grinning.

"What was the text for?"

"Got something for you. You know I always keep you in my heart," Paul said.

"Don't get sentimental on me, Paul. Your gifts always come with a caveat or a curse."

"Hey! That hurts my soul," Paul protested.

"You don't have a soul, man. You only have a stomach."

"Don't worry about it. Just chill, I’m gonna surprise you today."

"Like last time, when that angry bee went after me?" Harry asked.

"I told you not to move while I was handing you the honey!" Paul defended.

"What about the time that cow kicked me in the ass after I milked her?"

"Sugar hates sharing her milk."

"So she had a name, too. Wonderful," Harry said, throwing up his hands.

Paul just grinned and handed him a heavy rucksack. "Hold this and wait for me here. Don't run off. This is for both of us."

Harry took the bag and whistled. "Wow, man, did you rob a bank? This is heavy."

"Told you I had something nice for you."

"What’s the catch?" Harry asked.

"No catch. When I'm done, I'll call you and we’ll share it equally. You're my bro, I can't let you go hungry."

"But Paul, your gifts always come with a curse," Harry maintained his skepticism.

"That's all horse shit. Just wait."

Paul walked away, leaving Harry nervously eyeing every corner of the warehouse. He saw other workers and breathed a sigh of relief. Paul wasn't a thief, it was just that bad luck followed him like a shadow. Harry stayed put, remembering the pain and swelling from the bee stings—how everyone had laughed at his "apple-sized" nose.

He sat on a crate and observed the warehouse. It was spacious and full of goods. He noticed a man standing guard over a specific door. The door was bolted from the outside with a heavy beam. Harry wondered what was so valuable that it needed a guard and a barricade. He nervously shifted away from that area. "At least I'll see Paul when he comes out," he muttered.

He peeked into the rucksack. His eyes bulged. Chicken, ham... "Must be from that cow that nearly sent me to a wheelchair," he thought, grinning at the prospect of a feast.

He looked back at the guard, who was now flirting with a female coworker. "Yeah, go for it, buddy," Harry whispered. "No one should be alone during the holidays."

Then, he saw a young woman walking toward the bolted door. She began unbolting it. As she slid the beam back, it made a loud clack. The guard turned, frozen in shock for a second before screaming, "DO NOT OPEN THAT DOOR!"

It was too late. As she swung it open, the warehouse went silent. Harry saw movement in the darkness of the room. He heard a low, guttural moaning. At first, he thought it was two people "getting busy," but then they stumbled into the light.

They were rotting. They moved mindlessly, covered in blood, heading straight for the woman. She screamed as they grabbed her. The warehouse erupted into pure chaos. Workers dropped everything and bolted for the exits. Harry watched, paralyzed, until he saw two of the zombies—yes, they had to be zombies—heading his way.

He knew if he stayed, he was dead. But Paul had told him to wait. He slung the rucksack over his shoulder and ran toward the office where Paul had gone.

Inside, Paul was arguing with the warehouse manager, Fred.

"Come on, Fred! You can't shortchange the workers. They need to eat too!"

"Not my concern," Fred snapped. "I need to eat, too."

"Yeah, but cutting their take isn't cool."

"They aren't complaining! Why are you advocating for them? You never share your food anyway."

"I have a big stomach!" Paul yelled.

Harry burst in, gasping for air.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" Paul asked, eyeing the bag.

Harry stayed bent over, hands on his knees, pointing frantically back toward the floor.

"What!" Fred exclaimed. "Are they stealing my inventory?"

Harry shook his head. Paul looked at Fred with annoyance. "You don't own any damn food, Fred."

"Hey! Who is this guy? And what’s in the bag?" Fred demanded.

"Food," Harry managed to choke out.

"Food!" Fred’s eyes bulged. "How did you get that? Give it here!"

"Back off, Fred," Paul stepped in. "That’s mine. I gave it to Harry to hold."

"Maybe it’s part of my stash!"

"Wait, you’re hoarding food?" Paul asked.

"Of course! Don't you know it’s the end of the world?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Zombies," Harry finally found his voice. "I saw them burst out. Two of them followed me."

"There are no zombies, Harry. Your hunger is making you hallucinate," Paul said, shaking his head. "This isn't a movie."

"I saw them! They’re coming here!"

"You let them follow you?!" Fred turned pale. "I don't want to die before I eat my stash!" He started backing away.

Paul was confused. "Fred, what do you mean?"

"Zombies in the warehouse! Some man-eating shit! Eric was supposed to make sure nobody opened that damn door!"

"Shit," Paul muttered. "What about the food?"

Harry just looked at him. He wondered why he always fell for this. It was the "Paul Karma." Every time food was involved, disaster followed. Hunger had led him here, and now he was facing the undead.

"Harry!" Paul called urgently.

Harry looked over to see Fred trying to heave open a back door. He hurried over. "What’s he doing?"

"Finding a way out," Paul said. "Hurry up, Fred!"

"I’m trying! It’s blocked from the other side!" Fred panted.

"What’s out there?" Harry asked.

"An alleyway to the main street. I use it to sneak food out all the time. I don't know why it won't budge!"

Suddenly, a figure materialized out of thin air. He was handsome, with piercing blue eyes and a white mist swirling around him. Golden hair fell over his shoulders, and he wore rings on every finger. He smiled and gave a mocking bow.

"Gentlemen," he said.

"Who the hell are you?" Fred asked, sweating as the moaning grew louder outside the office.

"I am the God of Karma," the figure said. "Some love me, others... not so much."

"You've been ruining my life!" Harry snarled. "I’ve done nothing to you, and you take everything I try to eat!"

The God smiled. "Sorry about that. But it had to happen."

"I’ll knock that grin off your face right now," Harry growled.

"You can try," the God laughed. "But I think I’d rather watch the undead deal with you."

"Did you jam the door?" Paul asked.

"I did," the God said, yawning as he leaned against the wall.

"What do you want?"

"All the food you’ve stashed away, and everything in that bag. Simple, right?"

"What do you mean we should give up the food?" Harry snarled. "You’ve taken everything from me since the day I became a man."

"That’s too bad," the God of Karma said with a grin. "Seems like you’re trying to reap where you didn’t sow."

"It was a damn gift! My buddy here gave it to me. While he gets to enjoy his, you always take mine!"

"Must have been a mistake. Sorry it happened, but you can just think of it as a 'divine error,'" the God replied smoothly.

"I can’t give up my food," Fred stammered. "It’s the end of the world! How am I supposed to survive without it?"

"You don't ask Karma 'how,'" the God countered. "It just happens however Karma wants it to happen. And right now, Karma wants your food—or you can face those zombies."

"You mean everything?" Paul asked, his voice trembling.

"Yes," the God said, his grin widening. "Everything. Right now. Or that door stays shut."

"I’ve said it time and again, Paul—your gifts are a curse to me!" Harry cried, tears welling in his eyes as he stared at the chicken and ham in the rucksack. "How can I keep getting food from you and never get to taste it? Not even one bite! How can you be this wicked?"

"Ha! That is sad," the God of Karma said. "If it makes you feel better, I can make the smell of the chicken and ham linger in your nostrils for a month."

"You’re cruel!" Fred yelled. "How can you do that?"

"Aren't you cruel for taking other people's food?" the God countered. "Make your choice. I can’t hold the zombies back any longer. They’ll be here any second."

The three of them looked at each other. They knew they had no choice; it was their lives or the food.

"I am never listening to Paul again," Harry muttered, handing over the rucksack with tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Good choice," the God of Karma said. He waved a hand, and the rucksack vanished. "It’s great to start fresh with an empty stomach," he added, nodding at Harry’s stomach as it let out a loud, hollow rumble the moment the food disappeared.

Fred and Paul finally nodded in agreement. Their stashes vanished instantly, and the back door clicked open, letting them out into the alley. As they stumbled into the light, Harry made a silent vow: he was done with Paul for good.

As the door slammed shut behind them, the God of Karma’s laughter echoed through the warehouse walls one last time. The three of them stood in the damp, dark alley, panting and patting their empty pockets.

"Well," Paul sighed, his stomach letting out a sound like a dying whale. "At least we’re alive."

Harry turned on him, his eyes flashing. "Alive? Paul, I am a fresh broke man who just gave up a crypto-book, a ham, and my dignity to a god who wears ten rings! I’m so hungry I’m starting to think your left ear looks like a chicken wing."

Fred, the manager, was sobbing quietly. "My stash... my beautiful, hoarded canned peaches... gone."

Just then, Harry spotted something white fluttering on the ground near the alley exit. He walked over and picked it up. It was a small, cheaply printed pamphlet. His heart skipped a beat as he read the title: "How to Survive a Zombie Apocalypse for Free."

"Look!" Harry shouted. "It’s a sign! Maybe this is how we get back on our feet!"

Paul and Fred huddled around him, their eyes wide with hope. Harry flipped the pamphlet over to the first page. There, in bold letters, it read:

Step 1: Do not hang out with people who have bad karma. > Step 2: If you are reading this, you probably already ignored Step 1. Step 3: To see the rest of the steps, please send $50 in Bitcoin to the wallet address below.

Harry stared at the crypto wallet address. It was the exact same one from the $2 book.

"That's it!" Harry yelled, throwing the pamphlet into the air. "I'm done! I'm going to find a zombie and ask it for a loan!"

As they walked away, Harry’s nose suddenly twitched. He stopped dead. The scent of honey-glazed ham and herb-roasted chicken filled the air—thick, delicious, and incredibly vivid.

"Do you smell that?" Harry whispered, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

"Smell what?" Paul asked, sniffing the air. "I smell wet trash and fear."

Harry realized the God of Karma hadn't been joking. He was going to smell that feast, and only that feast, for the next thirty days while eating nothing but air.

The Moral of the Story:

"A free lunch often costs more than the menu price—especially when the person buying it has a 'curse' and the person serving it is a God with a sense of humor."

Checkout:https://www.twistedstories.store/2024/11/ava-assassin.html