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A Rewritten Life - Part 3
🕑 Added 2019-07-08 21:19:37 +0000 UTCIt was hard getting out of the apartment. First there was the challenge of finding clothing that fit. There was a pile of dirty laundry in the corner of the room that Garcia had long-since outgrown, but he hadn’t the care to get rid of. Like most life-long fat guys, he’d convinced himself that it would be useful to have smaller clothes if he ever lost weight, even though he’d never actually lost a pound in his life.
Second, it was hard to put on shoes. The last pair he had eventually disintegrated under the titanic stress of being stuffed full of fat feet far too large for the shoe that encased them. That, and the incredible pressure of having 500-plus pounds waddle around in had simply been too much.
Garcia settled on a pair of flip flops, a pair of sweatpants that barely came to his ankles and rode up his massive crack, as well as a t-shirt that did a woefully poor job of covering his hanging belly, which was clearly visible from the belly-button down.
It couldn’t be helped. Garcia knew he had to find that man and figure out what happened to him.
Everything had a bizarre duality to it. He knew, somehow, that in another life he’d be heading to his first day of work, meeting co-workers, and sitting down to do something or other with computers. He didn’t actually have the knowledge that other life possessed, so he didn’t know exactly what it was, but he knew it was tech-related.
But more than that, he knew that this other life was just easier to get around in. Waddling down the stairs was a brutal task that left him sweaty and winded by the end of it--he had no idea how he’d get up the stairs to go back to his apartment. And waddling down the street was even worse! He was constantly having to maneuver his bulk around even the tiniest of obstacles, and people would glare as they were forced to get out of his way lest they come into contact with his sweat-stained bulk.
Somehow, he remembered where he was going. A bar, a dive called Elandro’s with a sign spelled out it weirdly fancy lighting. It took him a while--walking wasn’t exactly fast at his size--but eventually got there.
He pushed open the door, slid up to the bar, and realized there was no way a single stool would contain even one of Garcia’s ass cheeks. He instead gathered two and spaced them such that each would carry half of is load, so to speak. Then he sat there and looked around.
The place was empty, which he guessed was typical. It was a Monday afternoon, after all--who would go out drinking at this hour? A deadbeat like him, that’s who. Garcia fished around for his wallet, which stuck out plainly in his tight track pants, and put down the last fiver he owned.
“Beer please,” Garcia asked, and the bartender nodded and served him a tall, frosted glass. At least the service was good.
“Interesting seeing you again,” came a voice to Garcia’s right. He had no idea how he’d missed him, but an absolutely enormous man was beside him nursing his own brew. He was almost Garcia’s size, perhaps 50-100 lbs more, with a thick beard and obvious thick hair all over his body. Just as in his dream, he wore a fedora and a button-down shirt that revealed much of the man’s chest and even threatened to reveal his burgeoning breasts if he leaned in.
“We’ve met?” Garcia asked. The man nodded.
“Another lifetime ago, in fact,” he said. “You were unhappy, so I helped you out.”
“Unhappy? I didn’t look unhappy,” Garcia said with a rising timber in his voice. “I looked like I was happy. I had a job, a nice apartment. I was thin, healthy! I wasn’t like,”--he wobbled his gut with a single hand--”this.”
“Are you unhappy with ‘this’?” The man asked, slapping Garcia’s gut with the back of his meaty hand.
The question took Garcia back. Was he? He honestly wasn’t. He’d always liked the thought of being big. He’d always loved eating. He didn’t like being bullied in grade school, but then he had a first growth spurt and became bigger than all the other kids. Nobody would touch him then.
But for things like work, a job, or a career? A lifetime of being passed over had simply made Garcia lose hope. The deck was too badly stacked against fat guys, so he’d decided to wallow in the only thing that brought him comfort: food.
“No, not really. But I’m broke, so there won’t be a lot of this for very much longer.”
“Well, how about I help you out again, one more time?”
Garcia cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“How about we finish our beers and you follow me back to my place?” The man asked. So Garcia gulped down his beer and the two massive men waddled out into the city.
