FIVE COURSE MEAL
Amuse-Bouche
The door closed behind them. Many electronic locks clicked. The room was in a basement floor below the science building. It was 700 square feet with white tile floors, white tiled walls, a double bed, a sink, toilet, a giant mirror presumably for the researchers to watch in, and one heavy duty steel door with a slot at the bottom. This was to be their home for the next month.
While it was required for all psych majors to participate in a post doc's research project, most only took an afternoon. But this month long experiment came with one thousand dollars each. Jenny and Mark would use the new funds to attend the Bunaroot Musical Festival in Wisconsin after the experiment and before the fall semester. Besides, when you're young and in love, a month in confinement seems like it would be a breeze.
Jenny didn't like the mirror. Her reflection seemed to glare back at her, warning that this was a mistake. Mark took her tiny toned gymnast waist into his muscular rowers arms and kissed her neck. He looked over to the mirror and shouted, "Pervs!"
Not quite forgetting about her reflection, Jenny playfully pushed her boyfriend away and gave a sexy "Mark, you're the worst." They took in the room. The bright lights bouncing off the sterile walls made them wince. "What now?"
The first few hours were actually more difficult than they had thought it would be. They tried to curl up in the bed together, but couldn't find a comfortable spot. There was no table or sofa; the bed, toilet, and sink were the only islands in an imprisoning sea of white. They decided the most comfortable spot was cross-legged on the floor. They sat and discussed how weird it was that they would have nothing but this room for the month.
They hypothesized on what this experiment was about, isolation they presumed and enjoyed how clever they were by staying one step ahead of the researchers. They made a pact to try to keep each other sane, to remind themselves where they were and why; incase things got sticky. So far it really didn't seem like it would be too much of a challenge.
After a few hours the slot beneath the door opened. A tray slid in with two plates, each with a peppercorn steak, steamed broccoli, a bun, and chocolate milk. Mark held the tray and presented it to Jenny, "Dinner is served ma lady."
Hors D'œuvres
Eating on a cold tile floor was uncomfortable, but at least the food was good. Really good. Both Jenny and Mark couldn't remember food tasting so rich, so full. The peppercorns had a nice snap, the steamed broccoli was savory yet refreshing, and the bun released a warm inviting steam when the crust was broken. The food did have a faint unrecognizable taste, which wasn't bad, but certainly noticeable. The one complaint was that is was perhaps too good, it left them both hungry for more even though the portions had been larger than what they were both used to. Mark, who usually had perfect table manners, perhaps to a fault, even rubbed his finger around the circumference of the plate so that the juices stuck to his finger. He injected his finger into his mouth and sucked it like a straw.
"Hey, you got any more?" he called to the mirror. Jenny said that she's had enough, but they both knew she was lying. "Only a few hours in and the only rescue from the boredom is eating." Mark said, but again they both knew he was lying, it wasn't boredom which made him want to eat.
They were starved. The meal had started an engine in their stomach, one that demanded more fuel. It got quiet, tense. They were anxious. Both their eyes turned to the slot below the door. They looked at each other and forced some laughs. It got quiet again. Their stomachs itched as if covered in poison ivy. The itch burned and throbbed with ever increasing intensity. Finally the slot opened and another tray slid in. This time with two full roast chickens, sweet potato mash, corn, and rice and beans. "Thank God" Jenny said.
The quantity was double the first meal, but to their palettes it was three times as good. They hardly noticed the mystery flavor now. Like wanderers in a desert coming across an oasis they shoveled, lapped and gobbled. Mouths full, they caught each other's eyes and swallowed, then smiled, attempting to regain some etiquette.
As the second helping came to a close a nervous pang ran up Jenny's spine. It reminded her of feeling she got when she watched the movie Titanic; a horrifying disaster that starts slow but exponentially picked up speed.
The food would be gone in a few bites, but with every morsel that hit her tongue she got hungrier. A lot hungrier, hungrier than she ever remembered being. She felt that itch gain potential, ready to ignite once the meal was done. Neither of them have ever been accused of eating like birds, Jenny could pack away a burger, fries, and finish it off with nachos. She was an athlete in college after all, but this was different. The food was gone.
Entrée
A few bites into the roast chicken and they knew what they would do once it was done- ask for more, and by God there had better be more. They both looked to the slot. Neither bothered to wipe away the chicken grease from their mouths. Salvation. The slot opened, a tray slid in. This time a giant bowl of cooked pork in rendered fat. They didn't bring it to their make shift dining room, that spot on the floor ten feet from the door. That seemed too far, there wasn't enough time, they were too hungry. Instead, they got on their knees, bent over the bowl and scooped the food into their mouths with cupped hands. The burning in their bellies from the minute and half between trays had been extinguished like ice water over coals. As they gorged, Jenny began to cry, her tears salting the already salty pork. She imagined her reflection in the mirror, it had the look of "It's too late now."
It was during their fifth- or was it sixth tray, which was now just large bowls of sinew, fat, and raw hamburger, when Mark grabbed Jenny's hand. He held it tight. His touch broke her from this eating trance. A trance, which consumed her faster than muck she glommed into her mouth. The idea of stopping was as repulsive as the idea that she might not be able to.
What time was it? They started this thing around one in the afternoon. It must be three in the morning by now. They had eaten more than either of them had thought possible. There are laws of physics, the conservation of mass in particular that seemed to bend. Where was that food going? Could this go on for a month, only stopping when they tore open? Jenny broke from her trance again, not daring to stop eating the chunky slop that continuously poured onto the floor from the slot like a broken sewer pipe. Her eyes went to Mark, his face contorted from focus and fear. Her eyes dashed over to the mirror, she wished she could get up and smash it, strangle whoever was behind it... Well why not? Why couldn't she just get up, walk over to the mirror, pound it a few times and ask to be let out. Jenny already knew the answer. She kept her mouth open letting the food pour into her mouth.
Mark began to moan, "Jenny!" he sobbed. He needed to eat a little more before getting the next part of his sentence out. "Oh, Fuck! I've got to shit." The law of conservation may bend, but it cannot break even in this nightmare. Mark put his hands out in front of him, preparing to push himself up and away from the slop to get to the toilet. "One..." He ate. "Two..." He ate more "Three!" He pushed up and landed on his swollen belly with his face away from the food. Within an instance the itch erupted like a volcano within him. He curled over and began to scream. Every fiber in his body twisted into a knot. The "hunger" eating him from the inside, the blood in his veins became carnivorous army ants. Mark abandoned his mission to the toilet, slid back around and let the warm soothing slop pour into his throat. Each "Fuck" that came out of his mouth was more desperate, more depraved.
The smell or the sound of it? Jenny couldn't decide which was more atrocious. She felt a tide of Mark's warm liquid slowly hug her legs as he let a moan more cathartic than an orgasm. A sour and somewhat electric smell wafted into her nose. A tightening in her stomach let her know that she would have to let it go soon as well. Her mind protested, but eventually she released, and she thanked God.
She felt like she was being strangled. Not from the food, but the collar of her shirt, which was once red, but now a dark putrid brown. The pain brought her back to reality. She felt present again. It had been sometime since her mind hadn't been in the synchronized rhythm of soothing the hunger between breaths. She flicked her eyes over to Mark. He had already torn off his shirt. Grief boiled up through the bile in her stomach. He had changed. His soft muscles were lost beneath a new endless layer of lard, which pushed out against his stretched skin. His face was bloated, his eyebrows beginning to sag over his eyes. His lower eyelids drooped down revealing the curve of his eyeballs. He looked like he had gained a thousand pounds. The choking from her collar got to be too much. She mustered enough strength to stop eating just long enough to get her hands to her collar to tear, but before she could, she gasped. Her fingers! They were so big now that even spread apart there was no room between them
How did she look? A new awareness of her body tickled her mind. She couldn't lift her legs; there was too much weight on them and not enough bone to hoist. She felt like some one had stretched her skin from her muscles and sandwiched in a waterbed. She felt that her chin and her collarbone were no longer two separate entities. She tore her shirt off and got back to eating.
Entremet
It could have been a week, or maybe a month, or had she always been here, letting food cascade into her ever growing belly? Had everything before, her sophomore year, her boyfriend Mark and their plans to drive to the Wisconsin to see Phish at the Bunaroot Music Festival before next semester, had that all just been a dream? Now everything that was, is, or ever will be was the warm continuous battle between the hunger and the relief. The fear had gone, so had the anger, plans of escape, the grief, the shame, it had all been swallowed and digested. It was just two featureless blobs of skin, two sea lions letting the ocean of rancid gruel roll into their mouths. What was left of human beings was a few fingers and toes protruding through gelatinous rolling hills of blubber. One blob with long blonde hair, the other with a crew cut, and a swamp of shit behind them.
The Main Course
The slot shut. At first the amorphous slugs that were once Jenny and Mark didn't notice, that is until they had sucked the last chunks from the puddle that lay before them. Mark, peering through the small area not covered by the fat flaps that were once his eyebrows, cried for more. "More, MORE!
As the itch began to burn within them, Jenny joined the pleas. "More More..." Their cries increasingly becoming hysterical. Their minds told them to bang on the door, but their arms had long been devoured by their bodies. They turned towards each other, their heads more like soggy jack-o-lanterns than heads really. Jenny couldn't remember the last time she had even thought about Mark, even considered that their was someone beside her. She didn't care that he was no longer a good looking young man. She didn't care that he had been her first love, the first person she thought she could get old with. The only thing she cared about was extinguishing the hunger.
"Jenny." Mark whispered. He used his girth to flop a bit closer to her. "I'm sorry." he whimperedas he sank his teeth into Jenny's cheek and tore off a chunk. For a moment the sting of pain sung louder than the ravenous itch, but only for a moment. As Mark chewed he enjoyed the warm blood cooling the hunger.
Jenny remembered the first time she met Mark. It was at the Delta Epsilon mixer. She saw him from across the room and knew she wanted him that night. They made love on the attic floor of the frat house. It was her first time. It was the best night of her life. The itch chewed up and digested the memory and before Mark could think to take another bite she bit into his neck. The blood jumped in beats down her throat, ending in the most soothing splash. She chewed and sucked and in that moment she thanked God.
Dessert
That night in the attic Mark groaned in rapture as he came inside her. He bit her ear and whispered "I want to be inside you forever." As she finished the last pieces of bone Jenny had a shameful and sickening revelation that this was now true.
There was nothing left. Jenny squealed and pleaded in a voice she hardly recognized. She became frantic and desperate. She wanted so badly to get up, but she was wrapped to tightly in mound of blubber. Maybe she could get to the bed and eat the comforter? She tried to get enough momentum to flop over, but after one failed attempt, she new she was there to stay. Maybe she could just let her self starve to death, but the hunger would not allow it.
Her mind now had only one blinding thought. EAT, but there was no food, or wasn't there? She tried to tilt her head towards what was left of her hand. She could see those delicious sausages poking out. They would do the trick. She jerked her head towards her fingers, but they were out of reach. She wailed, then jerked her head again and again. Finally she jerked her head hard enough that her body rolled over giving here her enough leverage to get her mouth to her finger. She bit in, the pain was beautiful. As she crunched through her bones the itch subsided, her blood pouring into her mouth. She chewed and drank and feasted in wondrous bliss. She finally began to feel sleepy and full. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off, making sure to keep her mouth on the faucet.