All You Can Eat Part Three

  

Part One

Part Two

All You Can Eat

Part Three

 

 

The lever was colder than he expected, its surface smooth and unyielding beneath his trembling fingers. As he pulled it downward, the machine groaned softly, a mechanical sigh, and the pale, curling substance began to flow. It spiraled into the bowl he had taken, piling higher and higher, its surface smooth and flawless, like fresh snow untouched by wind.

He brought the bowl to his lips and plunged in without hesitation, his tongue pressing against the cold, creamy substance. It was unlike anything he had ever tasted, a sweet, airy coolness that dissolved almost instantly on his tongue, leaving behind an ache in his teeth and an insatiable craving for more. He swallowed, barely bothering to chew, and reached for the lever again.

This time, he didn’t stop. The bowl filled to overflowing, the pale swirls collapsing under their own weight and spilling onto the floor. He didn’t care. He pressed his face into the mound, his jaws working frantically, the cold stinging his lips and numbing his tongue. The sweetness overwhelmed him, coating his throat in a sticky, cloying film that made him gag even as he kept eating.

The bowl was too small. It couldn’t hold enough, couldn’t satisfy the gaping maw of hunger that still gnawed at him despite the grotesque swell of his stomach. He cast it aside, the plastic clattering to the floor, and turned his gaze to the spout itself. It gleamed under the lights, a shining promise of endless supply.

He stumbled forward, his bloated body heaving with the effort, and pressed his mouth directly against the spout. His hands gripped the lever with a desperate strength, yanking it down as far as it would go. The machine sputtered and groaned, the soft ice cream pouring forth in a continuous stream. It filled his mouth, spilling past his lips and down his chin, soaking into his filthy loincloth and pooling at his feet.

He gulped greedily, his throat working furiously to swallow as much as he could. The cold burned as it slid down, an icy fire that spread through his chest and settled heavily in his stomach. The sweetness was overwhelming now, sickly and oppressive, but he couldn’t stop. His hands clung to the lever, his body convulsing with the effort of guzzling the endless stream.

Around him, the room had fallen silent. The other diners watched in horrified fascination, their forks frozen midway to their mouths. A child began to cry, the sound cutting through the thick, oppressive air like a knife. The primitive man didn’t notice. His world had narrowed to the machine, to the unrelenting flow of cold, sweet sustenance that both fed and tormented him.

“Sir! Stop!”

The shout came from behind him, sharp and authoritative. He ignored it, his teeth scraping against the metal spout as he tried to drink faster. Hands grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him back, but he clung to the machine, his fingers white-knuckled on the lever. The ice cream continued to flow, spilling onto the floor in a sticky, expanding puddle.

It took three workers to finally pry him away. They pulled him backward, his body slumping heavily in their arms, his legs too weak to support him. His stomach bulged grotesquely, the skin stretched tight and shiny, every movement sending ripples of pain through his bloated frame. Ice cream clung to his face and hair, dripping in thick, sickly streams.

“Get him out of here!” someone shouted, their voice high-pitched with panic. The workers dragged him toward the door, his feet scraping against the floor, leaving smears of melted ice cream in his wake. The cool night air hit him like a slap, the sudden contrast shocking his overheated skin. They dumped him unceremoniously on the sidewalk, the door slamming shut behind him.

He lay there for a moment, his body heaving, his breaths shallow and ragged. The taste of the ice cream lingered in his mouth, a cloying reminder of his excess. His stomach felt like a stone, heavy and immovable, every shift of his body sending fresh waves of nausea roiling through him. He groaned, a low, guttural sound that echoed in the empty street.

Above him, the neon sign of the buffet flickered, casting strange, shifting shadows across his bloated form. The world spun around him, the night closing in, as he lay there, a grotesque monument to his own insatiable hunger.

            The ground was cool beneath him, a hard, unyielding bed that pressed against the curve of his bloated stomach. He lay on his side, unable to move, his body a grotesque monument to his excess. The ache in his belly had dulled to a steady throb, a background noise to the chaos in his mind. Above him, the city loomed, its lights harsh and unblinking, casting strange, shifting shadows on the cracked pavement.

The voices came first, high-pitched and sharp, like the yips of scavengers circling a wounded beast. He opened his eyes, squinting against the glare of a streetlamp, and saw them. A group of young ones, their forms wiry and restless, their movements quick and unpredictable. They seemed smaller than the others he had seen, their faces smooth and unlined, their eyes bright with a cruel kind of curiosity. He thought, for a fleeting moment, that they might be an entirely different species, separate from the towering figures he had encountered inside.

They gathered around him, their laughter slicing through the night air. Their words were meaningless to him, a rapid-fire jumble of sounds that held no meaning but carried unmistakable derision. One of them, braver than the others, stepped closer and prodded his shoulder with the toe of their shoe. The gesture sent a ripple of pain through his overtaxed body, and he let out a low groan, a sound that only seemed to fuel their mirth.

They mimicked his groan, their voices exaggerated and mocking, their hands gesturing wildly. One of them crouched down, their face mere inches from his, and made a noise—a strange, guttural imitation of the sounds he had made earlier in the buffet. The others erupted in laughter, their voices blending into a cacophony that made his head pound.

Then one of them pointed at his stomach.

The laughter stopped. Their faces, twisted with amusement, froze in an instant, their eyes widening in unison. His belly, distended and grotesque, rose before them like a grotesque hillock, its skin stretched tight and shiny under the harsh light. The sight of it seemed to unnerve them in a way his presence alone had not. One of them gasped, a high, sharp sound that cut through the silence, and the others took a collective step back.

“What is that?” one of them murmured, their voice trembling. They stared at him as though he were a creature from their nightmares, something unnatural and incomprehensible. Their bravado crumbled, replaced by a growing unease. One of them turned and bolted, their sneakers slapping against the pavement, and the others followed in a panicked, chaotic rush. Within moments, the street was empty again, their laughter and taunts replaced by the distant hum of the city.

He lay there, his breath ragged, his mind reeling. The encounter left a sour taste in his mouth, a mixture of shame and unease that settled alongside the ache in his belly. He realized, dimly, that he could not stay here. The bright lights and endless noise of this place had drawn them to him, had made him a target. He needed to find somewhere quiet, somewhere dark, somewhere he could disappear.

With great effort, he pushed himself upright, his limbs trembling under the strain. The weight of his swollen stomach pulled at him, throwing him off balance, but he managed to stagger to his feet. The world swayed around him, a dizzying blur of light and shadow, but he focused on the darkness beyond the streetlights, the patches of black that seemed to promise refuge.

He began to walk, each step a painful, laborious effort. The city rose around him, a labyrinth of stone and glass, its towering structures alien and unyielding. He followed the faint scent of greenery, a hint of earth and leaves that cut through the metallic tang of the air. It led him to a patch of darkness, a gap between the buildings where the ground turned soft and uneven beneath his feet.

The park stretched before him, a wild, untamed space in the heart of the city. Trees loomed like sentinels, their branches casting jagged shadows on the ground. The air was cooler here, the sounds of the city muffled by the rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of insects. He stumbled forward, his feet sinking into the grass, his body sagging with exhaustion.

Beneath the canopy of trees, he felt the weight of the world begin to lift, if only slightly. The darkness wrapped around him like a cloak, hiding him from the watchful eyes of the city. He found a spot beneath a massive tree, its roots twisting through the earth like the veins of some ancient beast, and lowered himself onto the ground. The ache in his belly flared as he settled, but he ignored it, closing his eyes and letting the night close in around him.