Feed Me

Some existential (and poetic) thought from a character in Stephen King Under the Dome.  Carter is feeling the imperatives of so much of the world.  People ask of us.  Our way of life demands of us.  (It feels almost like the other side of the coin as Henry Hikes to Fitchburg)

    "Go on, son," Big Jim said. "Quick as you can."

    Why does it have to be me? Carter thought ... but did not say. It had to be him because the boss was old, the boss was fat, the boss had a bad beart. And because he was the boss, of course. James Rennie, the Emperor of Chester's Mill.

Emperor of used cars, that's all you are, Carter thought. And you stink of sweat and sardine oil.

   "Go on." Sounding irritable. And scared. "What are you waiting for?"

   Carter stood up, the flashlight-beam bouncing off the fallout shelter's packed shelves (so many cans of sardines!), and made his way into the bunkroom. One emergency light was still on in here, but it was guttering, almost out. The buzzer was louder now, a steady AAAAAAAAAAAA sound. The sound of oncoming doom.

    We're never getting out of here, Carter thought.

    He shone the flashlight beam on the trapdoor in front of the generator, which continued to utter the toneless irritating buzz that for some reason made him think of the boss when the boss was speechifying. Maybe because both noises came down to the same stupid imperative: Feed me, feed me, feed me. Give me propane, give me sardines, give me premium unleaded for my Hummer. Feed me. I'll still die, and then you'll die, but who cares? Who gives a ripe red fuck? Feed me, feed me, feed me.

    Inside the storage bin there were now only six tanks of propane....