This story is under revision and may be published elsewhere soon. Enjoy this version!
Joe Blaze was very fat. Some would say he was morbidly obese, some would say pleasantly plump. Some might compare him to Santa Claus. His wife, the beautiful Sofia Blaze, would often say he was a fat slob. Usually to his face.
He wasn't always fat. When they'd first married, in fact, Joe was quite handsome. Joe was a writer, a profession that, unless one is self motivated, could keep one from getting a proper amount of excercise. But, what really made Joe fat was that when he was depressed, he ate. Being married to Sofia often left him very depressed.
Sofia was very beaufitul. Many would say she was eye catching. She had long black hair (which today was up and held in place with chop sticks), eyes that were nearly black and legs that went on for miles. Like many beautiful women, she was also very mean and was very unkind to Joe. Joe often referred to her as 'bitch', but never to her face. On the day of their only daughters wedding-- which also turned out to be his last day on earth --Joe and Sofia predictably had an argument.
“Joe, you can't have it. Doctor Rubenstein said so. You have to watch your cholesterol,” she hissed at him. “Besides, have you looked in the mirror lately?
“Oh, I don't care what he says! It's my daughters wedding. For crisssakes, a man should be allowed to indulge himself on the day of his only daughters wedding!”
“Joe, I said no!” Joe was used to being told no. Sofia had his balls in a vice grip and she refused to decrease the pressure.
He looked around at the wedding he'd paid for with his twelve best selling novels and his professorship at Portland State University. Not only a professorship. He was Dean of the English Department. Still, this was not good enough for Sofia. She wanted more. She was insatiably greedy and materialistic. The flecklessly maniucured backyard was covered with pink tulips-- because his little girl loved her tulips-- that had cost him $5000. A 12 piece band that had cost him another $10,000 was singing “Americano” while his freeloading guests were swinging away. Eating fine cuts of tri tip steak. Drinking twenty year old bottles of $2000 champagne. Platefuls of $1000 a jar caviar. It was a damn fine wedding he'd paid for and if he wanted a piece of cake, he was going to have it. He didn't care what Sofia or Dr. Rubenstein had to say about it.
Joe stood up from the head table and pushed Sofia aside. He could feel the moist carrot cake on his tongue, he could taste the the sugarry frosting. He could feel his sticky lips. He salivated wildly as he pushed his way through the crowd, enraged that not only did he have to get the cake himself, but that he had to push his way through.
“This is my damn wedding. Get out of my way. Get out of my damn way!” He bellowed to anyone and everyone. His breathing was labored and his vision began to blur. The anticipation of the cake and the struggle to get it were taking it's toll.
“Joe, you sit your ass down at the table right now!” Sofia had caught up to him and grabbed the crook of his arm. He shook her away like a dog shaking off a flea and she would have fallen to the ground if Tommy George hadn't been there to catch her. In his periphery Joe thought he saw Tommy sneak a feel of Sofia's perfect breasts (those had cost $8,000) as he caught her but he couldn't be sure and, frankly, he didn't care. Not now. It was carrot cake he wanted. Tommy could be dealt with later.
“Get away from me, bitch!”
He began to sweat. The music had stopped and everyone that had been dancing and stuffing their faces was now watching Joe. “It's my cake! I paid for it and I'm going to have some!” he panted as he lumbered towards the table. He lost his balance and fell as he reached the cake. The table holding the cake toppled over and three layers of $1500 deliciousness smashed all over Joe's face and $4000 tuxedo. He began to shovel the cake into his mouth, licking it greedily off his fingers and face, making no attempt to get to his feet, forgetting to swallow before shoving in the next bite.
Twenty minutes later, when the paramedics prounounced him dead, he had a gullet full of cake and a smile on his face.
all rights reserved. copyright Justin W. Price June 2011.