(Most of my stuff violates the rules here in some way or another but I think this one clears the bar... I posted it a couple years ago on DeviantArt, where the rest of my stories and comics are parked. User name: mrwrong1)
1
It was mornings like this Amy wondered why she bothered. She was having coffee with her grandma while her grampa was out shoving metal disks back and forth across concrete and arguing politics with the other octagenarians, when she dared pour a couple extra spoonfuls of sugar into her World’s Best Grandma mug.
“Honey, do you think you should...?” her grandma asked.
The sour look of disapproval on her face indicated she wasn’t so much concerned for Amy’s dental health, but rather the way her grandaughter took up quite a bit more of her tiny kitchen than she had during her previous visit. It was a recurring theme, going all the way back to Amy’s chubby childhood.
“Well I don’t know if I should, but I know I did,” Amy shot back, a little harsher than intended.
Her grandma wisely dropped the matter, but Amy couldn’t and so she got up and announced she was going… out. Where, she had no idea, but anywhere other than the stuffy little condo or one of the huge, depressing big box stores they kept making her take them to.
After a consoling mocha Frappucino at the nearest Starbucks (avec extra whipped cream — fuck you, grandma), she found herself heading towards the ocean and then up A1A, where she saw a turn-off into a secluded-looking park, which a small, discreet sign identified as Lakeland State Beach. Though she was scared of sharks and hadn’t owned a swimsuit since she was eight years old, dipping her toes in the reliably chilly Atlantic seemed like a smashing idea. Florida’s subtropical climate was not at all fat girl-friendly.
She pulled into the tiny, tree-shaded lot, happy to be the only person there as she parked and shut off the engine. All she could hear as she unpacked herself from her little compact rental car were bird calls and the nearby crash of the surf — exactly what she needed. It was an overcast day so the water was slate gray rather than turquoise but even more dramatic for it, and the sand was deliciously cool.
It was hard work hauling her big body across the soft terrain and she was a bit winded (not to mention extra-sweaty) by the time she made it to the shoreline. The trek was well-worth it though, as she was instantly revived by the first icy wave that swamped her plump, pale feet. She walked a bit further up the beach, a steady, crisp wind now keeping her blessedly perspiration-free.
There were so many cute, colorful shells littering the sand, her hands were soon full and she stopped collecting them, and frankly with her considerable frontage all that bending down wasn’t easy. Legs tired and wheezing a bit after trudging the sand, she plopped down into its soft, gritty cushion to watch the ocean for a while. Nervous little birds ran back and forth through the surf, dodging soft-edged little bits of beach glass and tufts of black seaweed.
Head clearer, body cooler, after a while she was getting hungry and it seemed like enough beach time for one day. As she headed back toward the lot (the return trip feeling much longer for some reason), something caught her eye, a shiny object sitting half-buried in the sand a few yards from the surf. Not wanting to add any distance to an already arduous journey, at first she wasn't going to bother though something urged her to go over and check it out.
At first she mistook the amber-colored vessel for a gravy boat (hopeless fat girl that she was) but she quickly realized it was an old-fashioned oil lamp with a small, delicate handle at one end and a long, narrow spout at the other. It was much heavier than it first appeared and as she looked closer she saw it was etched all over with a fantastic, flowery script, vaguely Middle Eastern though it didn’t look like Arabic or any other language she’d seen. It was somewhat tarnished and caked with sand so she grabbed a corner of her shirt and rubbed the side of it.
Just as the lamp began to reveal a brilliant shine beneath the grime, it became very warm to the touch and started shaking violently, as if something was alive inside it. She dropped it with a shriek and as she backed away blue and pink smoke start to billow out from its spout. She tried to run away but stumbled as she turned around, toppling down onto the sand so hard she was left breathless and dazed as she struggled to scramble away on her hands and knees. Crawling in the soft sand was even harder than walking and she collapsed again, going face-down in it and coming up sputtering.
She dared to look back and to her horror a figure begin to coalesce from the smoke, several feet from the ground, a large, powerfully-built man, or rather a man’s upper body, the lower half blending into the colorful cloud still emanating from the lamp itself. The half-man was hairless and black as coal, with long, powerful arms crossed over its chest and a face like an ebony statue. When it opened its eyes they were sapphire blue and bright as laser beams.
1
It was mornings like this Amy wondered why she bothered. She was having coffee with her grandma while her grampa was out shoving metal disks back and forth across concrete and arguing politics with the other octagenarians, when she dared pour a couple extra spoonfuls of sugar into her World’s Best Grandma mug.
“Honey, do you think you should...?” her grandma asked.
The sour look of disapproval on her face indicated she wasn’t so much concerned for Amy’s dental health, but rather the way her grandaughter took up quite a bit more of her tiny kitchen than she had during her previous visit. It was a recurring theme, going all the way back to Amy’s chubby childhood.
“Well I don’t know if I should, but I know I did,” Amy shot back, a little harsher than intended.
Her grandma wisely dropped the matter, but Amy couldn’t and so she got up and announced she was going… out. Where, she had no idea, but anywhere other than the stuffy little condo or one of the huge, depressing big box stores they kept making her take them to.
After a consoling mocha Frappucino at the nearest Starbucks (avec extra whipped cream — fuck you, grandma), she found herself heading towards the ocean and then up A1A, where she saw a turn-off into a secluded-looking park, which a small, discreet sign identified as Lakeland State Beach. Though she was scared of sharks and hadn’t owned a swimsuit since she was eight years old, dipping her toes in the reliably chilly Atlantic seemed like a smashing idea. Florida’s subtropical climate was not at all fat girl-friendly.
She pulled into the tiny, tree-shaded lot, happy to be the only person there as she parked and shut off the engine. All she could hear as she unpacked herself from her little compact rental car were bird calls and the nearby crash of the surf — exactly what she needed. It was an overcast day so the water was slate gray rather than turquoise but even more dramatic for it, and the sand was deliciously cool.
It was hard work hauling her big body across the soft terrain and she was a bit winded (not to mention extra-sweaty) by the time she made it to the shoreline. The trek was well-worth it though, as she was instantly revived by the first icy wave that swamped her plump, pale feet. She walked a bit further up the beach, a steady, crisp wind now keeping her blessedly perspiration-free.
There were so many cute, colorful shells littering the sand, her hands were soon full and she stopped collecting them, and frankly with her considerable frontage all that bending down wasn’t easy. Legs tired and wheezing a bit after trudging the sand, she plopped down into its soft, gritty cushion to watch the ocean for a while. Nervous little birds ran back and forth through the surf, dodging soft-edged little bits of beach glass and tufts of black seaweed.
Head clearer, body cooler, after a while she was getting hungry and it seemed like enough beach time for one day. As she headed back toward the lot (the return trip feeling much longer for some reason), something caught her eye, a shiny object sitting half-buried in the sand a few yards from the surf. Not wanting to add any distance to an already arduous journey, at first she wasn't going to bother though something urged her to go over and check it out.
At first she mistook the amber-colored vessel for a gravy boat (hopeless fat girl that she was) but she quickly realized it was an old-fashioned oil lamp with a small, delicate handle at one end and a long, narrow spout at the other. It was much heavier than it first appeared and as she looked closer she saw it was etched all over with a fantastic, flowery script, vaguely Middle Eastern though it didn’t look like Arabic or any other language she’d seen. It was somewhat tarnished and caked with sand so she grabbed a corner of her shirt and rubbed the side of it.
Just as the lamp began to reveal a brilliant shine beneath the grime, it became very warm to the touch and started shaking violently, as if something was alive inside it. She dropped it with a shriek and as she backed away blue and pink smoke start to billow out from its spout. She tried to run away but stumbled as she turned around, toppling down onto the sand so hard she was left breathless and dazed as she struggled to scramble away on her hands and knees. Crawling in the soft sand was even harder than walking and she collapsed again, going face-down in it and coming up sputtering.
She dared to look back and to her horror a figure begin to coalesce from the smoke, several feet from the ground, a large, powerfully-built man, or rather a man’s upper body, the lower half blending into the colorful cloud still emanating from the lamp itself. The half-man was hairless and black as coal, with long, powerful arms crossed over its chest and a face like an ebony statue. When it opened its eyes they were sapphire blue and bright as laser beams.
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