The Hunger that Fell from the Sky
In the year of the silent eclipse, the sky split—not with thunder, nor fire, but with a hum so low it rumbled in the bones of mountains and unborn children alike. It was not a sound meant for ears. It was older than ears. It was the voice of need, echoing from behind stars long extinguished.
From that wound in the heavens descended a thing with no name, and no shape it cared to keep. Some said it looked like a cathedral of wings and iron tendrils. Others swore it was a mouth larger than the moon, weeping smoke. To most, it appeared only as a wrongness, a hole in reality through which meaning bled.
It landed not with violence, but with hunger. Wherever its shadow passed, rivers forgot how to flow, birds folded mid-flight and forgot they were birds, and the trees withered—not from heat or frost, but from despair.
People in the high spires of Marnath tried to name it. Scholars poured over ancient glyphs. One priest called it Elthuriel, which meant “the Desire Beyond Knowing”, and slit his own throat as offering. But the thing did not notice.
Instead, it moved slowly, patiently, like thirst across a desert. It did not destroy cities—it unmade them. Lanterns no longer remembered fire. Stones would not hold walls. The people? They either fled into madness or silence, for Elthuriel did not kill. It emptied. It swallowed the will to live.
But there was one who remained.
A child, no older than ten, born in the shadow of the thing. She was called Mire, for her mother gave birth in the stagnant pools left where the rivers died. She did not scream when her father dissolved into ash during prayer. She did not cry when the sun turned away and no longer rose above her world. Instead, she walked toward the center of the Hunger.
She spoke no words. She carried only a mirror.
No one had seen a reflection in years. The air itself no longer remembered how to shine. But Mire had found a shard in the ruins of a forgotten tower, and in its surface was a flicker of something else—a sliver of light that did not belong.
Elthuriel noticed her. It opened its attention, which was far more terrible than an eye. It asked without asking, in a voice that peeled paint from the sky: What are you?
Mire lifted the mirror.
The thing recoiled. Not in fear—Elthuriel did not feel fear—but in confusion. For the mirror did not show Mire, nor the thing itself. It showed a garden. It showed children laughing. It showed old women singing beside a fire that remembered warmth. It showed a memory of life that refused to be forgotten.
Elthuriel trembled. The sky above it began to crack with color.
It reached to swallow the mirror.
But Mire, in her silence, did something the entity did not expect.
She smiled.
And for the first time, Elthuriel felt.
It felt small.
And the Hunger that had never known hunger was filled—not with life, not with death, but with the unbearable ache of longing.
It screamed.
The mirror shattered.
And with it, so did the sky.
When dawn came, the world was not healed—but it was once again possible.
The Hunger did not vanish. It had merely been reminded it could feel. And in feeling, it broke.
Mire wandered north, her name whispered by trees that began to bud once more. Some say she grew into a queen. Others say she became the night itself, quiet and watching.
But all who dream still feel the echo of Elthuriel: the hunger that fell from the sky, and the child who taught it to ache.
When the void stared down at her, she smiled—and cracked the sky open with a memory.
Note:
Thank you for reading “The Hunger that Fell from the Sky”! This is a story in a series created for avid readers and English learners who want to enjoy captivating tales while practicing their language skills. Stay tuned for more stories and language tips to enhance your journey!
Explore more short stories in English and Spanish by visiting the section:
Short Stories / Cuentos Cortos
When the world feels dull, your mind restless, or your heart heavy, let a story be your escape. Just one page, one sentence, one word—and suddenly, you’re somewhere new, where imagination breathes life into the ordinary and turns the simplest moments into magic.
“Liked it? Smash that like button! 💥❤️”
The English Nook 
Leave a comment