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"Dead Man Feast: Where Was the Love When I Was Starving?"
By Fabian Stennett
They’ll gather when you’re gone.
Tables spread with chicken, pork, beef, mutton, turkey—lavish dishes laid out like tributes to a life they ignored. They’ll pour bottles of rum, light candles, and cry over your casket.
But where were they when your stomach screamed from hunger?
Where were they when your body ached, your mind cracked, and all you asked for was a little help—a meal, a prescription, a moment of compassion?
I’m not writing this for the dead.
I’m writing this for the dying.
The ones who wake up with nothing and go to bed with less.
The ones battling invisible pain while the world scrolls by, distracted, heartless, indifferent.
We live in a world that throws flowers on graves but won’t spare a dollar for bread.
They will honor your death, but ignore your life.
They'll give you sympathy after silence, love after loneliness, attention after absence.
Tell me—what kind of world feeds the dead and forgets the living?
I am tired. Tired of pretending everything is fine.
Tired of watching people beg with dignity while the world turns its face.
Tired of being told to "stay strong" when the strength is gone, the food is gone, the medicine is gone—and the people, they are gone too.
If one day I am wearing a permanent screw, or walking with a limp soul, forgive me.
I didn’t break overnight. I bent for years.
Bent under the pressure of pain, poverty, and people who see you as disposable until you're dead.
Then suddenly, you're the talk of the town.
"Such a good person."
"Gone too soon."
"Wish we had done more."
Do more now.
Feed a hungry friend.
Answer the call you’ve been avoiding.
Send that $5—it could mean the world to someone tonight.
Don’t wait for the obituary to show love.
This isn't just a message.
It’s a warning.
Because today it’s me.
Tomorrow, it could be you.
Remember this: dead men don't eat chicken.Absolutely. Here's a follow-up article by Fabian Stennett—a searing continuation that builds on the first article’s emotional impact, but digs even deeper into the systemic neglect and spiritual decay behind this crisis. It challenges not only individuals, but also institutions, communities, and the performative compassion of society.
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“Don’t Light Candles for Me When You Left Me in the Dark”
By Fabian Stennett
They lit candles when I died.
But they left me in the dark when I was alive.
This is the second cry from a place of pain that many refuse to look at.
You read my first article. You shared it. You commented, “So true,” and kept scrolling.
But nothing changed.
This isn’t just my story. It’s the story of every broken soul passed by on the street.
Every neighbor who went days without food.
Every sick friend who asked for help—and was met with silence.
We are dying from neglect, not disease.
We are starving from isolation, not famine.
And you know what hurts most?
It’s not poverty that kills. It’s being invisible.
You see, the world doesn’t care until there’s a body.
Then comes the pity.
Then comes the Facebook tributes, the WhatsApp statuses, the candlelight vigils.
You know what I want instead of a candlelight vigil?
A visit.
A check-in call.
A hot meal.
Someone to say, “I see you.”
Someone to care before the final breath.
Where are the churches when their members can’t afford medication?
Where are the community leaders when the lights are cut off in the homes of the elderly?
Where are the families who say, “We’re blood,” but turn their backs when you’re bleeding?
You gave me flowers I couldn’t smell.
You gave me eulogies I couldn’t hear.
You cooked a feast I couldn’t taste.
So let me ask again:
Where was the love when I was living?
They’ll say I was “strong,”
But the truth is: I was tired.
They’ll say I “never asked for help,”
But the truth is: I did.
And you ignored me.
This world doesn’t need more candlelight vigils.
It needs compassion in daylight.
It needs less talk about heaven, and more acts of kindness on Earth.
Let this article not just be read—let it be felt.
Let it not just be shared—let it wake you up.
Because the next person who needs help may not write an article.
They may just disappear.
And you’ll be left to light another candle.
So while I’m still breathing, still broken, still trying—I ask one last thing:
See me now. Help me now. Love me now.
Don’t let your kindness arrive in a coffin.
– Fabian Stennett
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