fat camp

Chapter 1 - ch.1-the queen's decree

If ever a person could doubt the cruel and domineering nature of some women, they would only have to stand in the presence of Queen Aratrix for mere moments to acquire all the knowledge necessary to determine that certain females were dangerous and lusted for control as any male dictator did. Yes, for women were portrayed in the Queen's kingdom as celestial beings worthy to be extolled and exalted above all else, the most beautiful ones regarded as goddesses by society.

But Aratrix, consumed by her arrogance and a nagging envy that bled its poison into her shriveled heart, did not take kindly to any female bearing a face or body lovelier than her own. She even grew jealous of gorgeous men with attractive faces and figures, and decided that no citizen of her jewel-encrusted sacred land should be permitted to surpass her own physical superiority, man or woman.

Thus, the decree was issued that all civilians who were underweight or maintained a healthy and normal BMI were to be collected and shipped off to specialized camps where they would undergo "de-beautifying" treatment to render them ugly forever.

Grandfather had never been one to place his faith and trust in doctors. According to him, people involved in the medical field were fiendish do-gooders that thirsted for a hearty pay and had absolutely no emotional attachment to their patients whatsoever. Unfortunately, the doctors had record of mine and my brother's BMI, and both of us were considered underweight by Aratrix's standards. The elderly were exempt from the Queen's beauty eradication, unless of course they were still very youthful in appearance and maintained sleek physiques.

As for me, I was, to quote my grandmother, a "budding blossom unfolding her pretty petals in a dark and drab world." Oh, how my grandmother would croon over me, insisting that she drag the teeth of her ancient, gold-plated comb through my soft auburn hair until it glittered like a dew-dusted leaf in autumn. Softly it would fan out around my thin shoulders, like blood spraying across pale marble.

But my eyes were everyone's favorite feature of mine, and they were my favorite, too. They were a warm azure color, resemblant of an undisturbed pool of rainwater in spring, and they gazed about the wicked world inquisitively as they sought for some meager ray of hope and goodness in life. Framed by long dark lashes, deep set in my white, rose-tinted countenance, they gleamed as gems scattered in snow and looked upon everything they saw with compassion their beholder did not understand.

So when the day came that we were seized and herded onto the train, never to see Queen Aratrix's shining city in the same light again, I tried to sympathize with our tyrannical ruler and see her as a poor soul who despised herself for not being petite enough, not being attractive enough, always loathing the reflection that greeted her in the mirror. I attempted to muster pity, but the only pity I discovered was that for myself.

I was probably one of the skinniest girls in the kingdom. I was a tall drink of water whose quiet, assertive aura was said to kindle reverence and admiration in those who saw me. Grandfather often claimed I was wise beyond my years, seeing the world in a light other common folk could not appreciate. But if there was one thing my peers in school could appreciate (with envy, I hate to say), it was my lean figure.

Being six feet tall with a small frame and the fortunate ectomorph body type made me very bony and tiny as Mother Nature's sort of compensation for my unusual height. I didn't lack a bosom, however, but it was tight and perky and rarely, if ever, bounced when I walked or ran. My stomach was board-flat and hard to the touch, and my pencil legs had an enormous gap between them when I stood with my feet together. Magazine companies contacted me back in my thin days pleading to do photoshoots with me, as I was apparently ideal in their eyes.

But that was in my thin days.

I didn't like being skinny. I detested how people would silently judge me or observe me with green eyes, wishing they could be me. Thin was in, in Aratrix's kingdom. Since Her Majesty was a stick, her people longed to imitate her waif beauty and be like her, too. Me? I always longed to be a little fleshier, a little meatier than what I was at that time. I had no idea my secret wish would be granted a hundredfold.

3 chapters, created 5 years , updated 5 years
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Frostxwatcher 5 years
was good guess this is dead
Theswordsman 5 years
Please continue
LoopsnBloops 5 years
Hope we can see more soon!
Di905 5 years
That is a nice introduction indeed. Keep going!
Adrielle 5 years
@Theswordsman Clever smiley
Theswordsman 5 years
I foresee some force feeding
Hurgon 5 years
Great start!