coolag12345
Well-Known Member
~BBW, ~XWG, Magic - When an overweight girl is the butt of a cruel joke, a Goth decides to take revenge with her own hands.
[Author's Note:]Hey everybody; long time no see.
I just wanted to let everyone know that my story Times are Changing (hopefully a couple of you still remember) is back from the dead. I'm currently rewriting it from the ground up, and am now feeling a lot better about the story as a whole. With these improvements, continuing should be much easier. So here it is, the reworked Times are Changing:
All of the main characters in this story are seniors in high school, and were always written as 18 years old. I've worked this into the story as best I can, but thought I would mention it right off the bat.
Part 1
“Okay people, settle down. We’re ready to begin when you are.”
The lights in the auditorium dimmed, and the sound of muddled conversation faded into silence as a hush fell over the student body seated below the stage.
“Thank you. I know you’re all anxious to hear the results, so we’ll get right to it.”
As Vice Principal Brown opened the sealed envelope in her hand, the room was silent; it seemed as if some were afraid to even breathe. Out of the envelope came 4 golden slips of paper. It was time.
“The nominees for the 2008 Shiloh High Homecoming Queen are…”
Every eligible girl, whether she knew it or not, was holding her breath. After a sufficient dramatic pause, Mrs. Brown leaned into the microphone and began.
“Carla Stephens.”
Carla, a pretty but average-looking girl near the front, stood up and walked onstage wearing a smile so wide it threatened to separate the two halves of her head. Her friends cheered, but the rest of the audience extended only a smattering of polite applause to the unremarkable choice of a nominee. They quieted quickly and Ms. Brown was able to continue.
“Jennifer Gardner.”
A bookish girl sitting by herself looked around in surprise, and then awkwardly edged toward the stage. She also received an acceptable, though smaller, amount of applause. From one corner of the room muffled laughing could also be heard. Jennifer joined Carla on-stage, her fists nervously clenched at her sides.
“Rachel Peddin.”
A girl sitting in the before-mentioned corner jumped out of her seat, shrieking and fanning her face with her hands in a lame façade of surprise. The whole corner started to cheer as she practically skipped up the middle aisle, though the girl portion of the cheering sounded curiously halfhearted to the observant listener. Rachel posed a bit on-stage, obviously loving the attention; her cheering section happily obliged. Mrs. Brown was eventually forced to gently shush them. Again there was silence.
Tension was high; only one more spot was open. The more popular girls began looking around, sizing up their competition. The current favorite was Jill Fox, a girl with just the right mix of high grades and athleticism to make the cut. Jill was staring straight at the vice principal, her hands clenching the sides of her chair as if she was ready to spring up at any moment.
“And the final nominee is…”
Mrs. Brown’s eyes, magnified by thick glasses lens, widened noticeably. She cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable; she had no choice, however, but to continue.
“The final nominee is… Amy Peele.”
Gasps echoed around the auditorium. The back-left corner struggled to contain itself, everyone in the area lowering their heads and beginning to shake with unheard laughter. Jill was frozen in her seat, mouth agape. All eyes turned to the front right corner; sitting there was a girl attempting to remove herself from the groaning chair barely supporting her.
After a few unsuccessful attempts, Amy Peele managed to stagger upright and began trudging up to the stage, each step squeaking loudly on the old wooden stairs. The back-left corner’s laughter showed no signs of slowing, and was starting to spread throughout the room. Amy finally joined her fellow nominees in line, cheeks red both from the simple exertion of walking up stairs and off-the-chart embarrassment.
Meanwhile Mrs. Brown was angrily whispering to Sarah, head of the Homecoming Committee. She had placed her hand over the microphone, and only a few words could be made out: “… all votes counted …you sure?” Sarah nodded her head, shrugging apologetically as she walked off-stage. Most of the audience by now was laughing quietly, though most of them were a bit ashamed by their laughter. They knew it was cruel, but…
“Students!” Mrs. Brown shouted sternly into the microphone. Everyone immediately settled, though the back-left corner was still silently trembling. “Let’s give our 2008 Homecoming Queen nominees a hand.”
Half-hearted applause ran around the room, all eyes locked on Amy. Standing there, she was truly massive. Her apple-shaped midsection was dominated by a hefty belly, jiggling with every breath. Her upper arms stretched the sleeves of her shirt, with only sizable dimples where her elbows should be. Her breasts, proportional to her stomach, sagged like large sandbags. Her thighs touched no matter how she stood, and were shaking slightly from her prolonged standing.
Mrs. Brown, seeing that Amy was close to tears, hurriedly dismissed everyone to afternoon classes. Amy quickly waddled backstage, tears leaking onto her round cheeks and lips trembling along with her chins; everyone else slowly filed out the door back into the school’s main hall.
Or rather, almost everyone.
One person, a round, gothic-looking girl dressed entirely in black, remained in her seat, face red with barely–suppressed rage. Her name was Cathy Pfeiffer. She, along with everyone else, knew exactly why Amy Peele had been forced to play a part in that spectacle. She knew that certain members of the student body, using their social influence, had rigged the vote. They had put Amy, a perfectly nice girl, through what could be the most embarrassing moment of her life for no other reason than a quick laugh.
Cathy couldn’t fathom such cruelty. Didn’t they know what this would do to Amy? How could she live this down? How would she ever be able to show her face in this school again without attracting laughter? Amy was already a pariah because of her weight; why did they feel the urge to make things even worse for her?
Cathy turned to watch the persons responsible leaving. The jocks and preps walked in one herd, all still laughing about their job well done. Rachel ran to meet them, quickly joining in the mean celebration with wholehearted enthusiasm.
She waited until the auditorium was clear to rise from her chair. Cathy snuck quietly onstage and slowly pulled a bit of the curtain back. What she saw backstage nearly drove her to tears: Amy Peele lay crumpled on the floor, sobbing incoherently, her enormous body shaking from head to toe. Cathy couldn’t bear to watch.
As she walked to her locker, Cathy’s deep pity and sadness turned to blind rage. All she could think of were those people she watched leaving. And what they had done. And how there was virtually no chance that the school would do anything about it. Cathy couldn’t let this stand. Justice needed to be served. “Someone needs to pay for this.”
Cathy exited the lunch line, tray in hand. Spotting several popular kids- particularly Rachel Peddin- in the center of the lunchroom, Cathy rushed over and grabbed an empty table adjacent to them. She hoped to determine the person behind the rigged vote; he or she was the one who deserved Cathy’s attention. She began to eat, all the while listening to the other table’s conversation. The talk was hard to decipher, mixing with the rest of the room. For a few minutes, all she could make out were bits and pieces of standard high school gossip. As soon as Amy’s name came up, however, Cathy gave every ounce of focus she could to hear what came next.
“I don’t know Rachel, wasn’t it a little mean?” Brenda Marsh was saying. “I think I saw her crying.”
“Look, I did this for my crown, not to spare the feelings of some nobody. I had never even seen her before, which says a lot; she’s kind of hard to miss.” The whole table began to laugh. “I don’t understand how someone can let themselves go that far. In my opinion, I’m doing her a favor; maybe that little show will be motivation for her to get off her butt every once in a while. And if she can help me get what I want at the same time, even better. Everybody wins.”
Cathy froze for a moment, dumbstruck by what she was hearing.
“All people like her make me sick,” Rachel continued, “I just want to grab them and scream, ‘haven’t you ever heard of self control?!’” Cathy’s back was turned to the group, but she could feel a pair of eyes suddenly on her. Rachel spoke in a much lower voice now: “Just look at that one.”
More eyes in her direction.
“Geez, look at her, stuffing her face. You think she’d come up for air every once in a while.”
Cathy, confused, returned her attention to her tray and found it almost empty; she had been concentrating so hard on eavesdropping that she hadn’t noticed herself absentmindedly eating faster and faster. Indeed, her mouth was at the moment very full with a bit of everything that had once sat on that tray. She swallowed with a little difficulty and at once rose to leave, embarrassed. As she passed the popular table, Rachel no longer bothered to whisper: “Look at that butt!” This got the group laughing again, louder than before. It took all of Cathy’s willpower not to reach a hand behind and cover herself as she continued to walk; she could feel her ass swinging behind her.
Dropping the plastic tray in the trash, a frown appeared on Cathy’s face; walking out the lunchroom door the frown began to deepen, almost becoming a sneer; and while opening her locker, that sneer turned into a scowl. It was all clear now: Rachel Peddin had singlehandedly orchestrated Amy’s social demise for her own benefit. On top of that, she had personally insulted Cathy.
She would pay.
Cathy slammed the locker shut as hard as she could, listening to the sound echo throughout the hall.
Rachel Peddin would pay.
The door was cold on Cathy’s ear as she pressed against it, listening. It was dark in her room, as she had turned the lights off; she was supposed to have gone to bed an hour ago. Her father had already turned in, so she just had one more person to wait for.
While waiting, Cathy delved into her memory, searching for two very important numbers. She thought back to the beginning of the semester, to the embarrassing physical everyone in her PE class had been forced to take. Organized alphabetically, Rachel, Amy, and Cathy were placed together in line. Not realizing the moment’s importance at the time, Cathy’s recollection was a bit fuzzy. She remembered Rachel stepping on the scale, and the slight pang of envy she had felt when the nurse told Rachel the number… but what was it? She tried to remember the nurse’s voice, but all she could muster was the sight of her mouthing the words. There must be something else, something she was missing…
Hoping to jog her memory, Cathy moved on. Amy’s weight was easier to remember, as she had been directly in front of Cathy in line. As Amy stepped onto the scale, which had creaked and sagged lightly under her weight, Cathy remembered seeing the nurse slightly raise her eyebrows in surprise before reporting to her in a voice that wasn’t quite soft enough, “306.” Amy’s shoulders slumped at the result and she quickly shuffled to the next station, the nurse looking on with pity in her eyes. Cathy remembered feeling deep empathy for Amy even then, a desire to tell her that she understood how she felt. That she was not alone.
A sudden noise yanked Cathy out of her memories; false alarm, just a flushing toilet.
She re-focused, thinking about her turn on the scale that day. The previous year she had left the physical weighing about 165, making her just barely overweight for her height of 5’8”. This was a weight she had maintained since middle school, when her height had finally settled. Up to that last physical Cathy had managed to preserve a balance between her life and school, keeping her body in check; this all changed, however, at the beginning of 11th grade. The notoriously-difficult junior year caught her off guard, and she quickly found herself overwhelmed by the ever-growing pile of homework, tests, and papers. It immediately took its toll on her, constant stress leading to a gradual decay of her self control. What little exercise Cathy had managed before was gradually forced out of her schedule. Her diet quickly dissolved into comfort food, anything she thought she needed to make it through a tough day; the more she ate, the more she needed. Cathy eventually managed to regain control of her schoolwork, but the damage to her lifestyle was done.
This loss of inhibition was only made worse when her heavy workload was removed and replaced by the intoxicating freedom of summer vacation. Like many people, Cathy promised herself she would use her newfound free time to get in shape; she never managed to work up the enthusiasm, however, and spent most of the three month break keeping to herself, lounging around her house and filling the empty time with food. By the time school drew near, even her sweatpants were beginning to feel tight; she was forced to buy an entirely new wardrobe.
Cathy knew she had gained some weight over the past year, but when her name was called at the physical that day and she stepped onto the scale, she was hit with the full force of what she had done to herself; the nurse looked her in the eye and reported, “203.” Cathy’s jaw had dropped open, and she walked off in a daze; she had gained almost 40 pounds in one year. She began to tear up at the mere memory of it, and the shame and disgust towards herself that came with it. To make matters worse, she was forced to place a marker bearing her name and weight on a large BMI chart at the next station as a way to set fitness goals for that year; to her horror, her marker belonged in the part of the chart labeled Obese. She recalled again thinking jealously of Rachel and her figure, finding her marker clear on the other side of the chart on the low side of Normal.
Suddenly, Cathy jolted to attention in her room. That was it, she had found it! She could see it clearly, the slip of paper bearing the words “Rachel Peddin, 18, 5’6”, 121 lbs.” She could finally begin! As if on cue, at that moment she heard the sound of feet on the stairs. Cathy listened as her mother climbed the small flight and walked down the hall. She heard the door to her parents’ bedroom gently creak open, and then heard it gently creak shut. After a couple of minutes, water could be heard rushing through the pipes; she was in the shower. Immediately, Cathy sprang into action.
She turned on the lights and quickly double-checked the supplies lying on her bed; she had everything she needed. Cathy didn’t waste a second. She grabbed two throw pillows and quickly ripped them open, shaking out every bit of stuffing. Next she cut two basic female shapes out of the remaining cloth, one thin, one heavy-set. Cathy took a needle and some thread from her closet and began sewing the dolls into existence, carefully creating accurate body shapes for both dolls. When they had been almost completely sewn shut with only a small slit on one side keeping them open, Cathy uncapped a marker and wrote “Amy” on the big one and “Rachel” on the small one.
She next reached into her bosom, removing a small brass key which was quickly inserted into the lock on the heavy wooden chest beneath her bed. Once opened, Cathy removed its single content: a small but disproportionally heavy velvet parcel. The cloth was quickly unraveled, revealing a small glass jar filled with dark black beads. With its protective wrap removed she could feel the container’s peculiar warmth, accompanied by a pulsing that was in a way almost intoxicating. Cathy didn’t have time to enjoy it, however; there was work to be done. The jar’s lid was lifted off with a slight pop and she poured a few beads into her hand. Even in the warm light of the room, the beads twinkled wickedly in her palm.
Slowly, methodically, beads were removed and counted. Cathy was careful, only sewing up the dolls’ small openings when the Rachel doll contained exactly 121 beads and the Amy doll was filled with precisely 306.
At about 11:30 PM, the hard part began. Cathy took her marker and drew a circle around the two dolls on the floor, rhythmically chanting as she did so. As Cathy got steadily louder, she opened the small leather pouch on her bed and sprinkled a sand-like substance all around the inside the circle, not stopping until every inch of the interior was covered with a thick layer of it. She began to contort her body, no longer whispering her chant but speaking at a normal volume. The sand began to steam, its color darkening from a white, to a yellow, to a dark orange, and finally a red.
Though still solid, the sand began to bubble as if boiling; the dolls were glowing, red-hot. Cathy didn’t stop, now taking a small vial from a chain around her neck. She opened it, now forcefully shouting her incantation. Cathy carefully tipped the vial, dropping a single drop of its contents into the now furiously bubbling sand. The second it hit, the entire circle burst into blue flame. Cathy, now completely exhausted, extinguished the fire with a thrust of her hand and ended her chant with a loud grunt. All traces of sand were now gone, leaving only the two dolls in the center of the circle.
At that moment, both subjects of the ritual woke with a fright. They were both drenched in sweat. Amy, after much effort, rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Rachel slid out of bed and went to the bathroom for a drink of water.
Cathy bent down and examined her finished products. The dolls, though still made of cloth, were now exact likenesses of the two girls down to skin tone and eye color. They were already cool to the touch. “Only one thing left to do.” She pulled out a small blade, and with great car slit a couple of seams on one side of both dolls.
Rachel, who at that moment was holding a glass of water, felt it first. The pain was wrenching, knocking the breath out of her lungs. It was worse than any pain she had ever experienced. The glass dropped to the floor and shattered as she placed both hands on her side in agony, falling to the floor just inches from the broken glass.
Amy felt it moments after Rachel; it was like a branding iron had been placed on her side. The pain was too great for her to get out of bed. She lay there, only able to squirm in anguish. She opened her mouth to call for her parents, but no sound escaped her mouth. She was alone.
Cathy reached into Amy’s doll, removed five beads, and placed them inside Rachel’s. She then quickly closed the hole with masking tape.
-*-
Just as suddenly as the pain had come, it was gone. The girls regained their composure, once again managing shallow, shaky breaths. A deep exhaustion struck, and all thoughts were replaced by those of sleep. As Rachel climbed into her bed, her pajama bottoms felt a bit tight. She loosened the drawstrings and was instantly asleep.
Cathy listened as the shower in her parents’ bathroom shut off; perfect timing. Suddenly very tired, Cathy quickly stowed away her materials and fell into bed. As her head hit her pillow, she had time to murmur one thing before blacking out: “Things are going to change around here.”
[Author's Note:]Hey everybody; long time no see.
I just wanted to let everyone know that my story Times are Changing (hopefully a couple of you still remember) is back from the dead. I'm currently rewriting it from the ground up, and am now feeling a lot better about the story as a whole. With these improvements, continuing should be much easier. So here it is, the reworked Times are Changing:
All of the main characters in this story are seniors in high school, and were always written as 18 years old. I've worked this into the story as best I can, but thought I would mention it right off the bat.
Times are Changing
by Coolag12345
by Coolag12345
Part 1
“Okay people, settle down. We’re ready to begin when you are.”
The lights in the auditorium dimmed, and the sound of muddled conversation faded into silence as a hush fell over the student body seated below the stage.
“Thank you. I know you’re all anxious to hear the results, so we’ll get right to it.”
As Vice Principal Brown opened the sealed envelope in her hand, the room was silent; it seemed as if some were afraid to even breathe. Out of the envelope came 4 golden slips of paper. It was time.
“The nominees for the 2008 Shiloh High Homecoming Queen are…”
Every eligible girl, whether she knew it or not, was holding her breath. After a sufficient dramatic pause, Mrs. Brown leaned into the microphone and began.
“Carla Stephens.”
Carla, a pretty but average-looking girl near the front, stood up and walked onstage wearing a smile so wide it threatened to separate the two halves of her head. Her friends cheered, but the rest of the audience extended only a smattering of polite applause to the unremarkable choice of a nominee. They quieted quickly and Ms. Brown was able to continue.
“Jennifer Gardner.”
A bookish girl sitting by herself looked around in surprise, and then awkwardly edged toward the stage. She also received an acceptable, though smaller, amount of applause. From one corner of the room muffled laughing could also be heard. Jennifer joined Carla on-stage, her fists nervously clenched at her sides.
“Rachel Peddin.”
A girl sitting in the before-mentioned corner jumped out of her seat, shrieking and fanning her face with her hands in a lame façade of surprise. The whole corner started to cheer as she practically skipped up the middle aisle, though the girl portion of the cheering sounded curiously halfhearted to the observant listener. Rachel posed a bit on-stage, obviously loving the attention; her cheering section happily obliged. Mrs. Brown was eventually forced to gently shush them. Again there was silence.
Tension was high; only one more spot was open. The more popular girls began looking around, sizing up their competition. The current favorite was Jill Fox, a girl with just the right mix of high grades and athleticism to make the cut. Jill was staring straight at the vice principal, her hands clenching the sides of her chair as if she was ready to spring up at any moment.
“And the final nominee is…”
Mrs. Brown’s eyes, magnified by thick glasses lens, widened noticeably. She cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable; she had no choice, however, but to continue.
“The final nominee is… Amy Peele.”
Gasps echoed around the auditorium. The back-left corner struggled to contain itself, everyone in the area lowering their heads and beginning to shake with unheard laughter. Jill was frozen in her seat, mouth agape. All eyes turned to the front right corner; sitting there was a girl attempting to remove herself from the groaning chair barely supporting her.
After a few unsuccessful attempts, Amy Peele managed to stagger upright and began trudging up to the stage, each step squeaking loudly on the old wooden stairs. The back-left corner’s laughter showed no signs of slowing, and was starting to spread throughout the room. Amy finally joined her fellow nominees in line, cheeks red both from the simple exertion of walking up stairs and off-the-chart embarrassment.
Meanwhile Mrs. Brown was angrily whispering to Sarah, head of the Homecoming Committee. She had placed her hand over the microphone, and only a few words could be made out: “… all votes counted …you sure?” Sarah nodded her head, shrugging apologetically as she walked off-stage. Most of the audience by now was laughing quietly, though most of them were a bit ashamed by their laughter. They knew it was cruel, but…
“Students!” Mrs. Brown shouted sternly into the microphone. Everyone immediately settled, though the back-left corner was still silently trembling. “Let’s give our 2008 Homecoming Queen nominees a hand.”
Half-hearted applause ran around the room, all eyes locked on Amy. Standing there, she was truly massive. Her apple-shaped midsection was dominated by a hefty belly, jiggling with every breath. Her upper arms stretched the sleeves of her shirt, with only sizable dimples where her elbows should be. Her breasts, proportional to her stomach, sagged like large sandbags. Her thighs touched no matter how she stood, and were shaking slightly from her prolonged standing.
Mrs. Brown, seeing that Amy was close to tears, hurriedly dismissed everyone to afternoon classes. Amy quickly waddled backstage, tears leaking onto her round cheeks and lips trembling along with her chins; everyone else slowly filed out the door back into the school’s main hall.
Or rather, almost everyone.
One person, a round, gothic-looking girl dressed entirely in black, remained in her seat, face red with barely–suppressed rage. Her name was Cathy Pfeiffer. She, along with everyone else, knew exactly why Amy Peele had been forced to play a part in that spectacle. She knew that certain members of the student body, using their social influence, had rigged the vote. They had put Amy, a perfectly nice girl, through what could be the most embarrassing moment of her life for no other reason than a quick laugh.
Cathy couldn’t fathom such cruelty. Didn’t they know what this would do to Amy? How could she live this down? How would she ever be able to show her face in this school again without attracting laughter? Amy was already a pariah because of her weight; why did they feel the urge to make things even worse for her?
Cathy turned to watch the persons responsible leaving. The jocks and preps walked in one herd, all still laughing about their job well done. Rachel ran to meet them, quickly joining in the mean celebration with wholehearted enthusiasm.
She waited until the auditorium was clear to rise from her chair. Cathy snuck quietly onstage and slowly pulled a bit of the curtain back. What she saw backstage nearly drove her to tears: Amy Peele lay crumpled on the floor, sobbing incoherently, her enormous body shaking from head to toe. Cathy couldn’t bear to watch.
As she walked to her locker, Cathy’s deep pity and sadness turned to blind rage. All she could think of were those people she watched leaving. And what they had done. And how there was virtually no chance that the school would do anything about it. Cathy couldn’t let this stand. Justice needed to be served. “Someone needs to pay for this.”
-*-
Cathy exited the lunch line, tray in hand. Spotting several popular kids- particularly Rachel Peddin- in the center of the lunchroom, Cathy rushed over and grabbed an empty table adjacent to them. She hoped to determine the person behind the rigged vote; he or she was the one who deserved Cathy’s attention. She began to eat, all the while listening to the other table’s conversation. The talk was hard to decipher, mixing with the rest of the room. For a few minutes, all she could make out were bits and pieces of standard high school gossip. As soon as Amy’s name came up, however, Cathy gave every ounce of focus she could to hear what came next.
“I don’t know Rachel, wasn’t it a little mean?” Brenda Marsh was saying. “I think I saw her crying.”
“Look, I did this for my crown, not to spare the feelings of some nobody. I had never even seen her before, which says a lot; she’s kind of hard to miss.” The whole table began to laugh. “I don’t understand how someone can let themselves go that far. In my opinion, I’m doing her a favor; maybe that little show will be motivation for her to get off her butt every once in a while. And if she can help me get what I want at the same time, even better. Everybody wins.”
Cathy froze for a moment, dumbstruck by what she was hearing.
“All people like her make me sick,” Rachel continued, “I just want to grab them and scream, ‘haven’t you ever heard of self control?!’” Cathy’s back was turned to the group, but she could feel a pair of eyes suddenly on her. Rachel spoke in a much lower voice now: “Just look at that one.”
More eyes in her direction.
“Geez, look at her, stuffing her face. You think she’d come up for air every once in a while.”
Cathy, confused, returned her attention to her tray and found it almost empty; she had been concentrating so hard on eavesdropping that she hadn’t noticed herself absentmindedly eating faster and faster. Indeed, her mouth was at the moment very full with a bit of everything that had once sat on that tray. She swallowed with a little difficulty and at once rose to leave, embarrassed. As she passed the popular table, Rachel no longer bothered to whisper: “Look at that butt!” This got the group laughing again, louder than before. It took all of Cathy’s willpower not to reach a hand behind and cover herself as she continued to walk; she could feel her ass swinging behind her.
Dropping the plastic tray in the trash, a frown appeared on Cathy’s face; walking out the lunchroom door the frown began to deepen, almost becoming a sneer; and while opening her locker, that sneer turned into a scowl. It was all clear now: Rachel Peddin had singlehandedly orchestrated Amy’s social demise for her own benefit. On top of that, she had personally insulted Cathy.
She would pay.
Cathy slammed the locker shut as hard as she could, listening to the sound echo throughout the hall.
Rachel Peddin would pay.
-*-
The door was cold on Cathy’s ear as she pressed against it, listening. It was dark in her room, as she had turned the lights off; she was supposed to have gone to bed an hour ago. Her father had already turned in, so she just had one more person to wait for.
While waiting, Cathy delved into her memory, searching for two very important numbers. She thought back to the beginning of the semester, to the embarrassing physical everyone in her PE class had been forced to take. Organized alphabetically, Rachel, Amy, and Cathy were placed together in line. Not realizing the moment’s importance at the time, Cathy’s recollection was a bit fuzzy. She remembered Rachel stepping on the scale, and the slight pang of envy she had felt when the nurse told Rachel the number… but what was it? She tried to remember the nurse’s voice, but all she could muster was the sight of her mouthing the words. There must be something else, something she was missing…
Hoping to jog her memory, Cathy moved on. Amy’s weight was easier to remember, as she had been directly in front of Cathy in line. As Amy stepped onto the scale, which had creaked and sagged lightly under her weight, Cathy remembered seeing the nurse slightly raise her eyebrows in surprise before reporting to her in a voice that wasn’t quite soft enough, “306.” Amy’s shoulders slumped at the result and she quickly shuffled to the next station, the nurse looking on with pity in her eyes. Cathy remembered feeling deep empathy for Amy even then, a desire to tell her that she understood how she felt. That she was not alone.
A sudden noise yanked Cathy out of her memories; false alarm, just a flushing toilet.
She re-focused, thinking about her turn on the scale that day. The previous year she had left the physical weighing about 165, making her just barely overweight for her height of 5’8”. This was a weight she had maintained since middle school, when her height had finally settled. Up to that last physical Cathy had managed to preserve a balance between her life and school, keeping her body in check; this all changed, however, at the beginning of 11th grade. The notoriously-difficult junior year caught her off guard, and she quickly found herself overwhelmed by the ever-growing pile of homework, tests, and papers. It immediately took its toll on her, constant stress leading to a gradual decay of her self control. What little exercise Cathy had managed before was gradually forced out of her schedule. Her diet quickly dissolved into comfort food, anything she thought she needed to make it through a tough day; the more she ate, the more she needed. Cathy eventually managed to regain control of her schoolwork, but the damage to her lifestyle was done.
This loss of inhibition was only made worse when her heavy workload was removed and replaced by the intoxicating freedom of summer vacation. Like many people, Cathy promised herself she would use her newfound free time to get in shape; she never managed to work up the enthusiasm, however, and spent most of the three month break keeping to herself, lounging around her house and filling the empty time with food. By the time school drew near, even her sweatpants were beginning to feel tight; she was forced to buy an entirely new wardrobe.
Cathy knew she had gained some weight over the past year, but when her name was called at the physical that day and she stepped onto the scale, she was hit with the full force of what she had done to herself; the nurse looked her in the eye and reported, “203.” Cathy’s jaw had dropped open, and she walked off in a daze; she had gained almost 40 pounds in one year. She began to tear up at the mere memory of it, and the shame and disgust towards herself that came with it. To make matters worse, she was forced to place a marker bearing her name and weight on a large BMI chart at the next station as a way to set fitness goals for that year; to her horror, her marker belonged in the part of the chart labeled Obese. She recalled again thinking jealously of Rachel and her figure, finding her marker clear on the other side of the chart on the low side of Normal.
Suddenly, Cathy jolted to attention in her room. That was it, she had found it! She could see it clearly, the slip of paper bearing the words “Rachel Peddin, 18, 5’6”, 121 lbs.” She could finally begin! As if on cue, at that moment she heard the sound of feet on the stairs. Cathy listened as her mother climbed the small flight and walked down the hall. She heard the door to her parents’ bedroom gently creak open, and then heard it gently creak shut. After a couple of minutes, water could be heard rushing through the pipes; she was in the shower. Immediately, Cathy sprang into action.
She turned on the lights and quickly double-checked the supplies lying on her bed; she had everything she needed. Cathy didn’t waste a second. She grabbed two throw pillows and quickly ripped them open, shaking out every bit of stuffing. Next she cut two basic female shapes out of the remaining cloth, one thin, one heavy-set. Cathy took a needle and some thread from her closet and began sewing the dolls into existence, carefully creating accurate body shapes for both dolls. When they had been almost completely sewn shut with only a small slit on one side keeping them open, Cathy uncapped a marker and wrote “Amy” on the big one and “Rachel” on the small one.
She next reached into her bosom, removing a small brass key which was quickly inserted into the lock on the heavy wooden chest beneath her bed. Once opened, Cathy removed its single content: a small but disproportionally heavy velvet parcel. The cloth was quickly unraveled, revealing a small glass jar filled with dark black beads. With its protective wrap removed she could feel the container’s peculiar warmth, accompanied by a pulsing that was in a way almost intoxicating. Cathy didn’t have time to enjoy it, however; there was work to be done. The jar’s lid was lifted off with a slight pop and she poured a few beads into her hand. Even in the warm light of the room, the beads twinkled wickedly in her palm.
Slowly, methodically, beads were removed and counted. Cathy was careful, only sewing up the dolls’ small openings when the Rachel doll contained exactly 121 beads and the Amy doll was filled with precisely 306.
At about 11:30 PM, the hard part began. Cathy took her marker and drew a circle around the two dolls on the floor, rhythmically chanting as she did so. As Cathy got steadily louder, she opened the small leather pouch on her bed and sprinkled a sand-like substance all around the inside the circle, not stopping until every inch of the interior was covered with a thick layer of it. She began to contort her body, no longer whispering her chant but speaking at a normal volume. The sand began to steam, its color darkening from a white, to a yellow, to a dark orange, and finally a red.
Though still solid, the sand began to bubble as if boiling; the dolls were glowing, red-hot. Cathy didn’t stop, now taking a small vial from a chain around her neck. She opened it, now forcefully shouting her incantation. Cathy carefully tipped the vial, dropping a single drop of its contents into the now furiously bubbling sand. The second it hit, the entire circle burst into blue flame. Cathy, now completely exhausted, extinguished the fire with a thrust of her hand and ended her chant with a loud grunt. All traces of sand were now gone, leaving only the two dolls in the center of the circle.
-*-
At that moment, both subjects of the ritual woke with a fright. They were both drenched in sweat. Amy, after much effort, rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Rachel slid out of bed and went to the bathroom for a drink of water.
-*-
Cathy bent down and examined her finished products. The dolls, though still made of cloth, were now exact likenesses of the two girls down to skin tone and eye color. They were already cool to the touch. “Only one thing left to do.” She pulled out a small blade, and with great car slit a couple of seams on one side of both dolls.
-*-
Rachel, who at that moment was holding a glass of water, felt it first. The pain was wrenching, knocking the breath out of her lungs. It was worse than any pain she had ever experienced. The glass dropped to the floor and shattered as she placed both hands on her side in agony, falling to the floor just inches from the broken glass.
Amy felt it moments after Rachel; it was like a branding iron had been placed on her side. The pain was too great for her to get out of bed. She lay there, only able to squirm in anguish. She opened her mouth to call for her parents, but no sound escaped her mouth. She was alone.
-*-
Cathy reached into Amy’s doll, removed five beads, and placed them inside Rachel’s. She then quickly closed the hole with masking tape.
-*-
Just as suddenly as the pain had come, it was gone. The girls regained their composure, once again managing shallow, shaky breaths. A deep exhaustion struck, and all thoughts were replaced by those of sleep. As Rachel climbed into her bed, her pajama bottoms felt a bit tight. She loosened the drawstrings and was instantly asleep.
-*-
Cathy listened as the shower in her parents’ bathroom shut off; perfect timing. Suddenly very tired, Cathy quickly stowed away her materials and fell into bed. As her head hit her pillow, she had time to murmur one thing before blacking out: “Things are going to change around here.”
