By Cat Tac
Jack Full was a successful businessman, and his wife Choice ran a successful health club. Their daughter had grown up in poverty until she was 12, but her parents had suddenly accumulated significant wealth in recent years.
"What's happening to our daughter?" said Jack Full to his wife, Choice. It broke the silence in the Rolls Royce as the rich couple headed back from their latest visit to the shops.
Choice: "What do you mean? I was talking to her this morning, and she was telling me that the voices she was hearing have gone."
Jack: "But what about the huge quantities of food she is eating at the moment. She's getting fat, haven't you been talking to her about that?"
Choice: "Oh what the hell, who wants to be one of those skinny models anyway, it's all such a waste of time. I am thinking of selling the health club in the summer anyways; it's started to lose its profitability"
As the couple pulled up on the drive on the estate they caught sight of their once slim daughter going into the house with more shopping bags.
Later that day in the house:
Miss Porky Bewti: "I am going away for a couple of years in two weeks, Dad. I have decided to accept an offer from a foreign firm because of my multi-lingual language skills."
Jack could not believe the changes that were happening to his family in such a short space of time. His daughter had lost all interest in sports. Her new hobbies seemed to be eating and shopping.
Jack thought a bit about Bewti leaving home for the first time and for some reason felt that it's what his daughter needed. After all, he thought, she would soon be as "fat as a pig" if she stayed around the house any longer and kept up her current routine.
In recent weeks, his wife also had seemed strangely detached and silent except when she was around her daughter.
Bewti unpacked her latest shopping bags in the peaceful surroundings of her bedroom. The photographs and trophies on her bedroom shelves could be about a completely different person and seemed to gather dust these days as they were neither appreciated nor wanted. There could hardly be a greater difference.
Her hair was quite long now and went half way down her back. This would have been inappropriate in her "sporting days" at university. The clothes she wore were business like and smart compared to the jeans and 'T' shirts she used to dress in more frequently. She now always looked like she was about to attend a business meeting; at her most casual she wore clothes that suggested she was going out to a formal dinner.
Bewti emptied the new clothes onto the bed from the shopping bags. They were the largest sized clothes she had bought yet and completed her wardrobe for her two-year trip. Now she could pack her travelling boxes for shipping. She placed all her latest purchases at the bottom of the travelling boxes and "layered" the boxes with smaller and smaller sized clothes that she had purchased in recent weeks, until they were full. She put all the shoes she bought at the top of the boxes.
Bewti grabbed another truffle and stuffed it into her mouth as she looked at the trophies and photos on her bedroom shelf. There she was only last year receiving a trophy for winning the university's gymnastics championship. The same trophy was beside her bed, now full of truffles, and she casually reached down and grabbed another one. She could only vaguely remember that day, even though it had been less than a year previous. Her girth had increased by at least eight inches since then. A little bored, she rolled off the bed to try on her old gymnastics kit for one last time (She had packed all her "up to date" clothes and wanted to lounge around in something lighter before going to bed).
After a bit of a struggle getting her old gym kit on:
Rolls of fat flowed over the top of her old shorts and under the vest of her old ensemble. The university emblem at the front of the vest was grotesquely distorted. "Perhaps I still have some of the old skills that made me a champion," she thought. So she crouched down and tried to do a handstand on the big fluffy carpet in the middle of her bedroom. She took several efforts to kick her legs in the air. (After forgetting about hand stands she was trying to do a more modest head stand). She felt a lot of pain on her head which was the result of the 70 extra pounds she had gained since the last time she had tried gymnastics. Fortunately, she fell in the direction of one of her packed suitcases and caused no damage to herself. This could not be said of her old gym clothes because all the seams had by now given out under all the heaving flesh.
Then the voice spoke again: "IT'S TIME FOR THE LITTLE CEREMONY. ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO PROCEED WITH THE DESTRUCTION? "
Miss Porky Bewti: "Yeah, I'm looking forward to it!"
A little later in the garden:
Bewti put the last bag of trophies and photographs into the furnace and watched through the furnace door as the plastic bag melted around the thin metal of her old trophies. She threw in her old gymnastics kit behind the burning photographs, certificates and trophies.
Miss Porky Bewti: "Hmmm, that should fan the flames quite nicely!"
Bewti stuffed the last truffle into her mouth; she had taken it out of the trophy she had been using as a sweet bowl and returned to the house and bedroom.
During the night she was woken up by a brand new food craving, and she got up and tiptoed past her sleeping parents bedroom on the way to her latest nocturnal visit to the kitchen.
Her mother had unexpectedly become "sympathetic" to her daughter's new diet and filled the fridge with fruit pies and ice cream, her daughter's favourite food. After a while the microwave chimed finished, and in no time the glass mixing bowl was full of pie and ice cream. She used a mixing bowl for her nighttime snacks as this reduced the need for constantly going back for new helpings.
Her mother heard the microwave oven playing its music and felt strangely relieved. She had difficulty sleeping until she was satisfied that her daughter had had enough to eat. She smiled and rolled over. Her own silk pyjamas split a little more along their seams as she did so.
The next morning arrived, but Bewti was having a "lie in" and had to be woken up by her mother.
Choice: "Good Morning, precious."
Miss Porky Bewti: "Oh sorry, mum, what's this you brought me?"
Choice: "Well, I thought I would bring you a little breakfast; you only have an hour to eat it as you're due at the airport soon."
Miss Porky Bewti: "Thanks, mum, can you get me some more maple syrup for the pancakes?"
Choice: "Eat your eggs and bacon while I get it, dear."
Miss Porky Bewti: "Thanks, mummy."
Choice: "You know dear, I'm surprised you packed your trophies. I thought you were the more studious type now rather than the silly old sporty thing. Did the trophies take up much room in the boxes?"
Miss Porky Bewti: "Oh, very little room indeed, mum."
Bewti started laughing, but her mum did not understand. She thought it must be true what they were saying in the newspapers about fatter women being happier.
Four hours later Bewti was sitting in the plane at 30,000 feet and flying at 500 miles per hour. Her place of birth and past life rapidly disappeared behind her. She rested her courtesy gin and tonic on her smart silk browse in front of her.
Then the voice spoke again: "ENJOYING THE RIDE?"
Bewti looked round, but there was only a little girl sitting next to her.
"What's next?" she thought.