russian doll

A damp loaf of a body, she sweated all over as she tried to move her enormous weight around the bed that was her prison and sanctuary.  The tiny body inside the blubber silently screamed as the waves of fat calibrated. The bed creaked in time with the gasps escaping her mouth; the mouth that got her in this mess.  The mouth that had never said the things she wanted to say, it just ate, ate, ate, shoved it all down.

The stench of rotting flesh permeated the room; a fly landed on her right breast happily feeding off the map of old food that had been there for days. She had no way of swatting it because her arms were weighed down with curtains of fat.  She just looked at the fly and felt jealousy of its freedom and of its simple existence. Although her existence now was just surviving inside this body inside this room.  She wondered where the fly had been before it had chosen her. Her skin was so hard now that she couldn’t even feel the fly tickling her mass.  She turned her neck to the left to check the time as her stomach was demanding its fill, but that cut off her windpipe as the fat started crushing and pulling; soon the fat would implode into her and then she would be free.  She would sink into that sweet darkness, suffocating.

She tried to move again because being in one spot for too long felt like iron pokers were digging into her as the fat pooled and punished her bones. The backs of her knees were raw and oozing where they had chaffed; the smell was like the stench of Manhattan in  mid-August, rotting bins and urine hanging in the air.  Giant sores under her belly folds looked like her flesh was being torn apart by ripping hands; gaping and violent chasms of misery.

Her brain and body had become living Matryoshka dolls but in an opposite parallel – her brain had become smaller and her body had become bigger in a direct correlation.  As she had shut down her mind to stop everything, her body had become larger than life which was funny to her because this wasn’t living.

The doorbell rang and she used the entry phone attached to her bed to see who it was before she let them in.  Oh she was relieved, the food had arrived, it was the only thing she had left now. Six people entered her room, chattering all different languages, becoming instantly silent as the smell hit them first and then the sight; the sight of this gargantuan human with dead eyes looking back at them.  She gained pleasure watching them open mouthed horrified all of them thinking they would never get like her. It made them feel good.

The tour guide instructed them to step forward with the food that had been requested by her on the app; steaming food was placed around her on the bed like an offering.  One of the tourists reached out to touch her elephant rough skin – she never used to allow them to touch her but now she can’t feel anything it doesn’t make any difference; let them get their monies worth.  She knows she will get better reviews if they can touch and then more people will bring food and soon this will be all over…

All of them watching her eat, transfixed at how desperate and quick she fed. Her mouth open and always stuffed, her gullet packed sometimes choking her making her eyes water.

The food suspending everything for a moment; she was dancing, hair flowing on the beach at night, running into the sea.  Back before all of this, before, before,  before, the word she can’t seem to stop.

 #fiction #fat #dystopian #dark 


7 thoughts on “Loaf

    1. Thanks! I just wrote it quickly so prob could be bit more finessed but I’m realising that my prob is i stop myself writing by trying to be perfect when I just should get my ideas down! Wish I knew how to work WordPress a bit more too!

    1. Thanks! I really enjoyed letting my mind wander. I tend to stop myself from writing as I’m trying to craft it too much rather than just write write write and see what happens!

  1. You’re a fantastic writer Sam… this is such a great (sad and disturbing!) story. I’d love to have such a flair for writing!

    1. Ah thanks, just wish I could write more as I only get flashes of inspiration now and then! Maybe once I move to a more calm place, near the sea, I will feel more like writing!

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