Aftertaste: A Novel

by Daria Lavelle

Some spirits are satisfied by a single bite of a particular dish, or a sip of just the right drink. Others take longer to feel full—days in the Hall, or weeks. Months of eating. Some even need years to digest—each meal a way to work through the life they just lived, the memories they need to process, every bite a step closer to fulfillment. Sooner or later, most spirits get to board the glittering trains departing the Food Hall and move On. But some of us don’t. Some of us can’t feel full no matter what we eat. There’s a Hunger inside that won’t be tamed. Our Living put it there. See, when we died? Their grief was bottomless. So vast and deep it swallowed them whole. They couldn’t process our loss; they couldn’t let us go. They held on so tight that it held us back. Kept us here. Made us Hungry. That’s the uncool thing—like, deeply uncool—about the Food Hall. If our Living don’t move on, then neither can we. We get stuck. Destined to spend all eternity eating Snickers that won’t satisfy.