Chapter 9 - quetar: or how i learned to stop worrying and love the kanamits

I watch the images dance across the television screen in front of me. Men and women in formal attire, flowing dresses and well-tailored suits; thin bodies pressed up against each other as they glide across the ballroom floor. The black and white coloring adding a sense of not only elegance, but distance from our modern age. Such a scene seems almost foreign now, like cowboys and Indians fighting each other on the western frontier. It's hard for me to imagine what it must've been like in pioneer times, just like it surely will be hard for the next generation to remember a time where we'd dance the night away; casually drinking glasses of wine or champagne while eating little more than spinach puffs and finger sandwiches. Where we'd fall in love and lock each other in tight embraces, gracefully swaying on our feet in high heels and loafers. How we used to steal kisses in the moonlight on a midnight stroll, enjoying the brisk chill in the fresh air and the warmth of an arm draped over our shoulders.

A time when such a thing was possible seem like a relic from a bygone era. A piece of history from the distant past, like Shakespeare and Rome. We have evolved greatly since then as a species, or devolved depending on your perspective. Even though everything I saw on the screen would've been perfectly normal less than a year prior. We were past dancing now. Past parties. Past clothes for that matter. Things changed so quickly, though time itself seemed almost inconsequential now. It had no meaning to me or anyone else. There was no rush, no necessity to do anything or be anywhere in a timely fashion. Each day went by the same. Wake up, eat, sleep, repeat. In the process of such a cycle, it was impossible to tell how many days, weeks, or months went by at any given moment. It was all just a blur.

I continue to watch the old movie. Classic beauty in all its forms currently eluded me. Gorgeous women with immaculate bone structures and bodies small enough to pass through doorways without even the slightest thought or hesitation. Silky hair and painted lips, elegantly crafted to draw attention from male suitors. Dresses designed to highlight their hourglass shapes and flat tummies.

I placed my own hands upon my overpumped stomach, a far cry from the moving pictures on screen. Fingers pudgy and sausage-like, no nail polish on the tips, though still well-manicured by my new Kanamit assistant. He kept them trimmed to make sure I didn't accidentally cut my delicate flesh with them. So as I moved my hands across my gut, I tried my best to take in the expanse of it. Even though I was unable to move my head to look down, multiple chins securing my gaze in place quite some time ago, I could still see it rising high over my thighs, which I imagine were quite large at this point as well.

I hadn't left my bed in what felt like an eternity. When Quetar offered to help me, I was in no position to say no. Yet now I couldn't imagine life without him. He brought me food and fed it to me when I was too tired to lift my flabby arms to my always-open mouth. He bathed me by hand, since I had grown too fat to fit in the shower. He even changed the channel on the tv when my fingers got too big to press the tiny buttons on the remote control. I was completely helpless without him, growing more and more dependent on the Kanamit with each passing day. So much so that when he offered to give me my own feeding tube, I accepted without even questioning his motives.

I had come a long way in changing my opinion on the Kanamits. Quetar was so nice and helpful that he couldn't possibly want to eat me. I had originally wanted to take our time together to ask questions, to learn more about their race and possibly find out their true intentions. But in short order, I found myself too busy stuffing my face to get a word out. When the feeding tube was finally placed between my plump lips, I had permanently been silenced, losing my ability to ever ask what I wanted to know. Not that I cared at all.

As the delicious sludge was pumped into me at a slow, yet constant pace, my brain became numb. All my suspicions, all my worries, all my thoughts faded gently into the background; with only food and basic levels of stimulation occupying the foreground. It was like being in a perpetual daydream. Like being on a drug where the high never ended. I had become calm and docile in a way I had never experienced before. Years of anxiety and paranoia bordering on schizophrenic had been whittled away into oblivious bliss. When my hunger grew to the point of needing a constant stream of food, I just ate. When my mobility was finally sapped away from me in full, making me unable to get out of bed without help or shuffle my bloated foot in a single motion that barely resembled the archaic motion of a step, I just laid back in bed from that point on.

So when I heard Quetar say "Suzanna Quagliero. Human female. Height: 5 feet 6 inches. Weight: Indeterminate. Physical Status: Immobile. Estimated Readiness: 105%.", I just kept sucking on my tube without a care in the world.