chapter 59

‘You can do this.’ Sofia waddled back to her corner of the room, her ass as wide as her hips and jiggling just as slowly with all their lard. She supported herself against the wall and splayed her hands over her stomach, idly stroking its vast surface. ‘Wait for a moment, if you need. You’ll be hungry again in no time. You might surprise yourself. That’s what piggies are, after all, always hungry.’

Linda’s groin clenched, calling for attention. Why did that name have to kill her so bad? Pig. Why did she have to want more? Always more. Pigging out. Taking a huge breath, she let her head fall back against the cupboard and massaged her gut, feeling out its various areas to see whether she could fit more in some hidden corner. After a build-up of courage, she parted her lips and elevated a piece of chicken to her mouth. The first bite filled her face with warmth. Light spice woke her tongue, and before anyone asked, she was bringing another piece to her mouth, forcing her lips around its shape, teeth sinking into the meat, sucking the flavour out in a prolonged kiss. With the next bite, she could feel her stomach take a hit as the first found its way down. The next bite tasted better than the rest somehow. She moaned. Her strained belly tightened some more. Another chicken wing, and she had to shut her eyes. Her face felt so heavy. As if slipping into a dream, she lost sensation in her arms and legs. It wasn’t her choice to bring another piece into her mouth. She’d just opened up and closed her lips around the object without meaning to, teeth sinking in, chewing, swallowing. Her tongue moving slow and thick. Her jaw aching. Her belly winching tighter. Numb pain. Throbbing.

She lost focus. Pieces of chicken kept coming up to her mouth, and even as her hardened belly hit its peak, she swallowed again. Her bloated abdominal wall nearly broke open. She let her eyes sink down to the tray on her chubby thighs. Empty, but for one last piece. Everything was inside her, now, so rotund she was sticking out her sides ~ and that was when it happened. She began to lift the final piece, but, as if in shock, her body fizzed. She began to float. She imagined a pillow beneath her cheek. Her eyes shut on themselves. Her grease-glossy lips hung open, and then with a sag throughout her entire body, her head lolled to one side. Her hand fell into her lap, and the last uneaten chicken wing rolled off onto the floor.

At three hours past midnight, Linda was finally asleep. Over one eye an unguarded lock of hair swung down, settling gentle as a butterfly. Quiet snoring began to emerge in fits and starts before an unconscious little burp bubbled past her lips. Then it went away, and she was snoring again.

Sofia chuckled. She watched Linda’s ragdoll body slumber with its potbelly stuck out in the air, legs spread. She remembered being like that. She missed those days. Linda still had so far to go. Her journey had only just begun. The tray, meanwhile, had been creeping slowly off Linda’s thigh at an angle. Gathering momentum, it slipped off and hit the floor with a quiet thud, and a sleepy twitch exploded from Linda’s foot. Then she was still again, and the only sound was her deep breathing.

With a last chuckle and good-natured smile, Sofia sneaked over as silently as her heavy feet could manage and went about picking up the rubbish around her. It was an effort, bending down with all that weight on one knee to stop herself from pitching forward. But she gathered each piece of litter in one chubby hand and rose, happily out of breath. After putting the rubbish in the bin, she retrieved her nightie top from where she’d discarded it on the floor by the entrance, wrestled it back on over her bulging heavy torso, made sure the fridge door was shut tight, then disappeared into the darkness of the flat.

When she came back a few moments later, she held two blankets in her arms. Getting down on her knees beside Linda with a grunt and a body-wide sequence of wobbles, she did her best to ease Linda onto the floor so she was laying sideways. Already out of breath from holding the weight of her own body, she lifted Linda’s head off the ground, slid a bundled blanket underneath, and lowered it back down. Linda’s breath caught. She made a noise, just once, but that was all. Lying curled on her side, the dumpster load of food in her belly was on show as it sagged towards the ground like a bag of water. Sofia had to giggle, how cute Linda looked, all peaceful and filled up. She resisted the urge to poke her belly. With one last smile, she drew the second blanket over Linda’s body, tucked the edges in and nodded to herself.

Then she laboured to lift all her body weight back up, heaving as her bulk sought to keep her down. After packing everything Linda hadn’t managed to eat back into the cupboards, she ambled over to the stove. She flicked the light off and glanced around. Faint edges of silver light from the kitchen window were all she could see. She could hardly find Linda, sleeping down there on the floor, much less see the state of her body. (And the state of it to come.)

With all done, Sofia smiled like a mother. She left the kitchen. Sooner or later, Linda would wake up, and Sofia knew what it was she would do. For that, Linda needed privacy. And privacy she’d get.

Tjockningfest is done. Linda Ellikopa, the impressionist painter, wanders into the future as yet another citizen whose latent physique this festival has unlocked, spurred it along its natural path, even if only for an eight-week flux in time. In two years, this will happen again. Veterans will return. Young ones too, joining anew, will discover what it all means. But who’s to say Linda needs another Tjockningfest? For all the art she brings into our world for consumption, she consumes as much food in proportion. Perhaps she deserves this, at least, and the body that comes with it. The happiness of letting go.