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Hungry Are We
Hungry Are We
by Jason J. Young
Ash falls. Hunger wakes.
A man rises in the ruins of a city that no longer remembers how to live. He is not alive — not fully — and not yet gone. Memory flickers where instinct should be. Hunger presses where language once lived.
As he drifts through collapsed streets and abandoned rooms, fragments the shape of a home, the echo of a child’s laughter, the warmth of mornings that no longer exist. Each step pulls him closer to a place that both calls and resists him — a house that remembers what he has forgotten.
Hungry Are We is a stark, poetic descent into decay and grief, exploring the fragile boundary between self and appetite. Told in fractured, lyrical prose, it reimagines the zombie narrative as an intimate interior journey — not about survival, but about what remains when survival no longer matters.
This is a story of memory rotting slower than flesh, of love that outlives language, and of hunger that is never only about food.
Quiet, devastating, and deeply human, Hungry Are We is literary horror for readers drawn to atmosphere, restraint, and emotional weight.
by Jason J. Young
Ash falls. Hunger wakes.
A man rises in the ruins of a city that no longer remembers how to live. He is not alive — not fully — and not yet gone. Memory flickers where instinct should be. Hunger presses where language once lived.
As he drifts through collapsed streets and abandoned rooms, fragments the shape of a home, the echo of a child’s laughter, the warmth of mornings that no longer exist. Each step pulls him closer to a place that both calls and resists him — a house that remembers what he has forgotten.
Hungry Are We is a stark, poetic descent into decay and grief, exploring the fragile boundary between self and appetite. Told in fractured, lyrical prose, it reimagines the zombie narrative as an intimate interior journey — not about survival, but about what remains when survival no longer matters.
This is a story of memory rotting slower than flesh, of love that outlives language, and of hunger that is never only about food.
Quiet, devastating, and deeply human, Hungry Are We is literary horror for readers drawn to atmosphere, restraint, and emotional weight.
130 pages, Kindle Edition
Published January 21, 2026
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
June 8, 2026
One would think that having reviewed well over 100 ARCs I'd have learned to be comfortable leaving a first review, one would be wrong but still.
In a landscape coated in ashes that speaks of a collapse that came slowly and then all at once, a man wanders reaching for something that still pulls his strings even though he doesn't quite know what. The story is told in verse which does a great job of conveying the difficult grasp on consciousness and leaves the reader wondering how much is told and how much is not perceived. It's a slow exploration of decay. The gentle dance between liminality and an emptiness that has become a permanent naturalized state, the slow tango of a grief that remains anticipatory.
2 of my favourite zombie novels deal quite heavily with the concept of parental neglect and characters grappling with knowing or intuiting that they are unloved by their parental figures. This book felt like a heartbreaking response to these books which, as a parent, I could not help but be taken by. It's also a harrowing return to the core of what zombie horror started as, alienation from oneself, the quiet but all-consuming horror of losing control over what you body is made to do.
If you like stories that quietly gut you and desolate vistas, this one is going to be for you, I can't recommend it enough.
Also, Young heard that we should avoid em dashes because of AI and went "you can pry them from my cold dead hands, same goes for the u in colour", I assume that's what happened, and I'm here for it.
In a landscape coated in ashes that speaks of a collapse that came slowly and then all at once, a man wanders reaching for something that still pulls his strings even though he doesn't quite know what. The story is told in verse which does a great job of conveying the difficult grasp on consciousness and leaves the reader wondering how much is told and how much is not perceived. It's a slow exploration of decay. The gentle dance between liminality and an emptiness that has become a permanent naturalized state, the slow tango of a grief that remains anticipatory.
2 of my favourite zombie novels deal quite heavily with the concept of parental neglect and characters grappling with knowing or intuiting that they are unloved by their parental figures. This book felt like a heartbreaking response to these books which, as a parent, I could not help but be taken by. It's also a harrowing return to the core of what zombie horror started as, alienation from oneself, the quiet but all-consuming horror of losing control over what you body is made to do.
If you like stories that quietly gut you and desolate vistas, this one is going to be for you, I can't recommend it enough.
Also, Young heard that we should avoid em dashes because of AI and went "you can pry them from my cold dead hands, same goes for the u in colour", I assume that's what happened, and I'm here for it.
Displaying 1 of 1 review