Ew. Charcoal

Never! Full is a lie! You ask when the pit closes—it never closes! Night fell and my belly screamed again. I clawed through the patio gate into the cold grass. A fat, forgotten bag of hickory charcoal briquettes slumped in the corner. I smelled deep smoke and dried wood blood trapped inside the thick brown paper. Claws in! Rip! Shred! The heavy sack burst open, tumbling thick black stones onto the wooden planks. Teeth slammed down hard on dense charred lumps. Crack! Grind! Pure carbon crunch, acrid black dust puffing into my jaws. No meat, but it fills the hollow roaring. Still hungry!