J. J. White

 

Meet Barry Platt, circa now, a mealy mouth believer in the religion of self-gratification. A religion whose god is food. The glorious cuisine satiates Barry’s voracious appetite at the exclusion of any and all pleasures available to him in his little world. A world that will soon expand into…the Twilight Zone.

“Welcome to Buddy’s—would you like to try our hot wings today?”

Barry poked his head out the open window of his customized Ford Econoline and leaned into the speaker.

“Is this Kara? How are you darlin’?”

“Oh—hello, Barry.” The voice on the speaker had changed from the cheerful recorded employee to a quite real, annoyed employee. “The usual bucket of chicken and two large cokes?”

“Oh—now, what kind of attitude is that sweetheart? I sense a feeling of animosity there. Like you’re not happy to have me as a customer. Should I speak to your manager, baby? Is that what you want?”

“I’m not your baby and you’re holding up the line.”

Barry glanced in the rearview mirror at the four cars behind him in the drive thru lane. He smirked and ignored their looks of frustration. “C’mon snookums, spread a little sugar my way. You know you haven’t had a man until you had Barry. Where’s the love?”

“That will be $14.50—please drive through to the window.”

“Wait—wait sweetheart. You mixed up my order. I didn’t agree to it yet. Maybe I want something different.”

There was a long pause from the plastic chicken speaker. Finally, it crackled. “Yes sir. May I have your order?”

“You may, my little darlin’, you may. I would like a bucket of chicken and two large drinks.”

One of the cars behind beeped their horn politely, obviously hoping the large man in his van would try to understand he was taking too long. They unfortunately did not know Barry.

“I said that earlier, Barry. A bucket of chicken and two large cokes.”

“And you were very close Kara, but I said two large drinks—not cokes. Now—I want one large coke but not two. Guess what the other one is.”

“Just tell me.”

“Guess.”

“Fine—Sprite.”

“No.”

“Orange soda.”

“No.”

“Dammit, Barry, I don’t care. Just tell me.”

“Temper—temper sweetheart. How about root beer.”

“Great—Please drive through before I call the cops.”

My—she was feisty today. You’d think after taking his order everyday for two straight years, she’d learn a little tolerance. Oh, if he were only ten years younger and 300 pounds lighter, he’d show that sweet Kara a thing or two. She’d be screaming his name all right, but not in anger.

Kara had the order ready for him when he drove up. She shoved it into the van. He grabbed the plastic bag and set it on the floor next to his Rascal scooter. The pungent smell of the fried chicken filled his nostrils. Oh God, he could hardly wait to munch on the crispy delicacies. Patience, my darlings. Soon you will be pleasuring Barry’s ravenous stomach. Soon.

Barry purposely took his time removing the money from his wallet. Kara stared into open space as if oblivious to his obnoxious manner. He handed her a hundred dollar bill.

“Smallest I got, Kara. I’m open to suggestions on how you could keep the change.”

“God,” Kara said. She shut the small window and turned away.

She took too long. Barry reached into the bucket and grabbed a chicken leg. He shoved most of it into his mouth and stripped off the meat in one motion. As Kara opened the window, Barry threw the clean bone into the back of the van.

God, he loved food. Those succulent chickens beat the hell out of sex with cute little Kara any day of the week, though he wouldn’t know. He’d not even kissed a girl romantically in his 35 years. Girls never could see past his—well—you know—weight problem. He tipped the scales, if they were large enough to tip, at 450 pounds. According to his family physician, he gained from five to ten pounds a week. Que sera. At least you never had to throw food out of your bed the next morning.

Kara nearly flung the change at him. Barry shoved it in his wallet.

“I leave for college Monday,” Kara said. “So I can say what I’ve wanted to say to you for two years. Screw you!”

“Well congratulations, Kara,” Barry opened his wallet and took out a one dollar bill. He handed it to her. “Here, darlin’. Don’t spend it all at once.”

Kara knocked the bill to the ground and shut the folding window.

“Temper, temper,” Barry said again and reached for another delicious leg. He had to rummage through a few greasy breasts and thighs until he found the treasure. He ignored the now persistent car horns behind him. As he sucked the meat off the bone, he nudged the Econoline ahead a few car lengths. He thought he heard applause from behind.

It was time to celebrate. A trip to the park was in order. Savor Buddy’s best fried specialties with a nice view of the park pond. Ducks like chicken, don’t they? He couldn’t remember.

Barry chastised himself for not informing Kara she was serving a millionaire. Well, maybe not a millionaire, but close to it. $882,445, the jury awarded in his disability claim case. Barkum Electronics was stupid to fight his wrongful firing case. His weight problem was covered under the disabilities act. They couldn’t fire him just because he was so fat he couldn’t work at the test bench. They were required by law to accommodate him with a custom bench. The fools. Oh well, they paid for their ignorance. A million plus. After the lawyer’s cut, enough money to live comfortably the rest of his life. That is as long as he only lived another ten years. But oh what a great ten years it would be. Rich tasty food for every meal from now on. Sweet, sweet wonderful food.

Even as he munched on a wing, he planned the night’s meal. Chinese food. Lots and lots. The thought of bowls of pepper steak and fried rice almost made him wish he had ordered it for lunch instead of Kara’s wonderful chicken.

The park was empty except for a young mother doting over two small children on a metal slide. Thank God he never married. The thought of sharing upset him.

It took about ten minutes to slide into the Rascal. He literally had to shove one butt cheek in at a time until his excess bottom comfortably balanced the small scooter. He manipulated the remote to rotate the scooter until he faced the back of the van, then managed to woof two more chicken breasts while waiting for the Tommy-lift to lower his Rascal to the ground.

He sped away from the van, down to the edge of the lake, the half-empty bucket of chicken cradled in his left arm. The ducks sprinted to him. Within a half hour Barry and the ducks had devoured all eighteen pieces of chicken, even the backs, which weren’t quite as tasty as the others.

Barry felt the carbs kick in and closed his eyes for a quick nap. A faint rustling woke him after what seemed like just a few minutes. He opened his eyes to see two small children, a boy and a girl, staring at him. The boy, maybe six, pointed. “You’re fat.” The girl screamed and ran to the woman when Barry pulled up on his nostrils, stuck out his tongue and snorted.

The woman pointed accusingly at the boy and scolded him until he cried. She took him by the hand and walked him over to Barry.

“Oh boy. Here we go.” Barry said softly.

“Now apologize, Josh. What do you say to the nice man?”

“I’m sorry I called you fat.”

The woman nudged Josh toward the playground. “Now go and play while I apologize.” The boy ran toward the slide to join his sister.

Barry looked the woman over from head to toe, stopping to stare at the good parts. She blushed when his gaze landed on her breasts.

“Those your kids?” Barry asked.

“Yes—I’m sorry for—,”

“Ya see—kids like that are the reason I’m glad I never partook of matrimony. I’m of the belief that we should all raise turkeys instead of children. That way when they act up you can eat them.” The hot babe apparently didn’t see the humor in the statement and gathered the offending tots to the SUV. Ah well—it would leave only the sweet sound of silence to dwell on his favorite subject. Visions of pepper steak and onions drifted in and out of his thoughts as his eyelids once again fell victim to his four-thousand calorie lunch. When he woke, it was dark. How could he have slept so long?

Now he was both angry and starved. He had hoped to pick up the Chinese food before all the soccer moms stopped to get a fast meal for home.

He pushed the joystick on the Rascal to head back to the van. A large man in an electric scooter might be easy prey for the cretins and perverts who cruised public parks at night. What if the gate was locked? How would he get out?

The Rascal didn’t respond. The battery. Damn that delicious chicken and its carbs. Now what was he supposed to do? The cell phone was in the van, fifty feet or so away. He was starving. He wished now he hadn’t wasted that wing on those ducks.

Was that a noise? It sounded like voices near the entrance. No—voices carry over the water. Probably just from the houses across the lake. Too far away to hear him, he bet.

“Help—help me! I’m sick! Please someone!”

There was no reply.

Without warning, the Rascal began rolling toward the lake. Barry yanked on the joystick and received a shock that nearly knocked him unconscious. The water was uncomfortably close as the Rascal gained speed.

A blinding light from above lit the area around him. Barry covered his eyes but peeked to check on the proximity of the water. It was no more than a few yards away. He was going to die. Even if he could swim, he knew he would sink almost immediately when the rogue cart dumped him in the deep dark water.

With what little strength and large amount of adrenaline he could muster, Barry slid off the seat to the ground a few feet before the edge. The Rascal toppled over him and splashed into the lake. He lay on his back in the wet mud, panting, rasping for oxygen. His chest heaved in rhythm to his pitiful wheezing.

The light intensified. A high shrill whine shot through Barry’s ears. He screamed as his body spun in the mud like an ecstatic pig wallowing in a sty. Faster and faster he whirled, hollowing out a portion of the lakebed with his huge body, the din from above drowning out his girlish screams. Just as he passed out from the relenting centrifuge, he thought of tonight’s pepper steak.

* * *

The room was square and very large. The walls reached to a height of about forty feet, ending at a mirrored ceiling. Everything was white. The walls, the sink, the toilet, the shower stall, the floor, the bed. Even the shower handles were white. Well, not everything. Barry rolled over on the floor and with more than just a little effort, lifted his naked torso up just enough to stand. Quite wobbly, he plodded over to a red button on the wall that stood in stark contrast to the white room. A small red sign hung next to the button. Its etched white letters read, Push.

Barry poked his meaty index finger near the button and then stopped himself. What if it was a bomb? If it was, why would his captors go to all the trouble to kidnap him, and then have him blow himself up?

Barry was scared, cold, but mostly hungry. His stomach didn’t growl, it howled at him for food. How long had he been unconscious? Why was he naked and where was he?

He felt something rub against his feet and looked down to see what he had stepped on, but couldn’t see past his stomach. He moved a few paces back and saw clothes, underwear and a bathrobe. The underwear were new and a size 64. His size. He struggled to bend over and grab the clothes, eventually kneeling to reach them. The clothes warmed him and he felt better, though still afraid and hungry.

“Hello,” he called out tentatively. “Hello—anybody here?” He listened for the reply that never came. “Who did this? Why am I a prisoner?”

Only the faint echo of his voice reverberated off the pristine prison. Then he heard it. A quiet cacophony of noise—almost like—yes, traffic. But where was its source? He worked his way around all four walls, steadying himself in case he experienced a dizzy spell from lack of food. Finally, he saw it. A hole about two feet in diameter, close to the floor. It was an opening to the outside. Barry fell to his knees to peer out. The sides of the hole were white. That’s why he hadn’t seen it earlier.

Barry stuck his head through the hole. There was a forest of trees about a hundred yards away and beyond that, a highway filled with rushing cars. The traffic. That’s what he heard earlier, the traffic on the highway. He was near civilization at least, but the hole was too small to fit his huge body through.

He shoved an arm out to wave and screamed. “Someone! Someone! Please!—Please help me! I’ve been kidnapped! Call the police! Help me!”

But the only reply was the constant din of the traffic. They would never hear him unless someone left their car and investigated his odd shelter.

Barry looked out again but could only see the roofs of the vehicles as they sped by. Frustrated, he leaned against the wall to rest. He was dying of hunger. “Let me out! Let me out, goddamn it!”

He stood slowly and beat his head against the hard surface. Maybe if he bled on their perfectly white wall they’d come in and clean up. Then he’d at least know who his captor was.

He rolled along the wall and slapped at it in anger, when his head accidently brushed the button.

Push.

He looked up at the mirrored ceiling. “I know you’re watching me! Push! Push! Well I’m not going to push it! How do you like them apples, you bastards!”

He needed food. He’d die soon without it, but he wasn’t going to let whoever imprisoned him control him. He sat down against the wall and stared at the button. After what seemed like hours, he rolled over and stood.

“All right you win. You win.”

Barry stared at the button. Push. He did.

A large plate of hot, steaming, pepper steak and onions on a huge pile of fried rice slid out of a compartment. The opening in the wall immediately closed leaving the wonderful meal resting on the floor. Barry nearly fell over trying to kneel next to the plate of food.

The aroma was intoxicating. Was it a mirage? He touched the glass of soda. It was real. He drank half of it before coming to his senses and saved the rest to wash down his most favorite meal.

“Thank God, thank God,” he mumbled as he wolfed down the best Chinese food he had ever tasted. “Thank God.”

Soon after the meal, he took a nap and woke only because he needed to move his bowels. It felt strange using the toilet in the open like that. When he finished, he took a shower. Towels mysteriously appeared.

When he had dried, he wondered if it was possible—just possible, that there would be dessert behind the wall. He pushed the red button. A bowl of vanilla ice cream lathered in chocolate sauce appeared. It even had sprinkles. Barry sucked the treat up, then burped, farted, and patted his belly like a contented buddah.

It occurred to him that it was possible each time he pushed the button, food would appear. He pushed it again and a complete turkey dinner appeared with side orders of green beans and mashed potatoes. He wasn’t hungry. An odd occurrence, but he really wasn’t, for once. Maybe later.

Days went by, maybe weeks, it was impossible to tell since darkness never appeared except through the two-foot hole to the outside world. He’d given up trying to draw someone’s attention through the opening. No one heard. No one ever would.

The food was always there at a push of the button. Always fresh, always delicious. As much as he wanted. As much as he could eat.

He felt bigger. He was of course. Barry figured with the endless supply of food, he had probably gained 20-25 pounds. Well, he couldn’t starve, could he?

One day he looked out the hole to see that it was still day. After a hard fought battle with a boiled lobster, he stared at the hole as if waiting for an epiphany when, suddenly, he had one. The hole. It was wide enough for a man, maybe 200 pounds, to fit through. Of course. That’s what his captors had in mind; tease him with a means of escape while tempting him with their succulent entrees.

He could escape. He would. He just needed to lose about 250 pounds and he’d be thin enough to slip through the hole. Oh thank God, he thought. He could get out of there. He sat on the bright white tile to try and crunch the numbers. Ten pounds—no! Fifteen pounds a week, and he could escape in—how long? Three and a half, four months? Four months of sensible meals and he’s slip through and be on the highway in a few minutes. Only four months of dieting. He’d start right away. One good meal a day and just ignore any other food that popped out.

Barry was about to yell out at the captors to let them know his intentions, but decided to keep it to himself. He’d show them by escaping.

Several hours later, the hunger pains surfaced and Barry pushed the button, intending to only eat a vegetable if one appeared with the entrée. A sliced ham dinner, sweet potatoes, and some green beans filled the tray. As he had promised, he ate only the green beans.

The four months passed slowly. Barry mentally counted the days by observing the nights through the escape hole. Four agonizing months. He stepped into the shower and after toweling off, stared at his new body. He figured he now weighed 500 pounds.

He walked over to the wall, sighed, and pushed the button. A leg of lamb appeared.

* * *

They were huge creatures, hundreds of feet high. They hovered above the small white buildings and took notes on some strange looking device. One of them spoke. “Specimen number four has now been incarcerated for sixteen engs. As hypothesized, subject is incapable of quenching urges even when the possibility of escape exists.” The creature shut off the weird device and peered down at Barry through the one-way mirrored ceiling. Barry sat naked against the wall, stuffing his face with a delicious leg of lamb.

The creature smiled as he nudged his fellow researcher.

“I said he wouldn’t be able to do it, did I not, Trell?”

Trell frowned and handed a bright coin-shaped object to his comrade. “Yes, Lyri. You win.” Trell eyed the pitiful fat man. “Stupid humans.”

Nothing at all logical or sensible for a man of Barry’s intelligence to sacrifice his freedom for an overwhelming craving—an unstoppable desire to eat. However, such are the machinations of the human psyche when confined to…the Twilight Zone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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