Let’s Get Fat!

Imprisoned in a brutalist fashion. A dim room. Boarded windows. Restraints of heavy chains bolted to the walls. Every twitch of movement leading to the sounds and weight of iron. A door that you haven't seen the other side of since... well since you were last allowed to look at a clock. To see the sun. To sleep on terms besides involuntary food comas.

Being rewarded whenever you reach deeper into what it means to surrender to desire. Negotiating with your body to allow yourself to become more depraved. Lazily chewing with your mouth open when you're at the brink. Harsh, embarrassing breathing and grunting as you teach your mind to overcome being full, stuffed.

Existing in a hell of being overfed. Fleeting moments of clarity suffocated by a cruel, scientific minded feeder. You're trapped by his schedule. Complaining leads to a cold, speechless interaction. The most variety of your day comes from when your body is touched, prodded. You can't risk losing that pleasure.

Knowing that only once you've allowed yourself to be completely at your feeder's mercy do you get praise. The irony and fear twisting you as your only source of praise and affection comes from giving away anything that made you human.