But they were not the only ones attracted by a force that called to them on some deeper level, so deep that they became shells of their former selves, mindlessly wandering toward their destination.

They ignored each other for the most part. Some looked up in confusion as other plump bodies bumped into them or passed them by. There were looks of jealousy and greed traded amongst them, as if whoever got there first would get it all.

The food.

It’s what they all wanted—what they needed—a desire more powerful than love or survival.

Their stomachs roared and boiled and brought some of them to their knees, grimacing and howling. But they would not be denied. They would find their will to go on again, especially when others rushed past them, heading toward the glass front of the Paradise Buffet.

So many of them now. Every one of them wrapped tightly in clothing that may have once fit. Now, after weeks of over-indulgence of the specially prepared Chinese food, with the brand new recipe the Asian man bragged about, fat bulged out of sleeves and collars and sandals. He was right, of course. The food was incredible. More addicting than crack or meth or sex or gambling.

An elderly woman clutched her stomach and whimpered as she fell forward and cracked her face on the hard parking lot. A couple of teeth rattled loose, but she took no notice of the pain. That pain was but a flutter compared to that in her belly, burning her like she’d swallowed sulfuric acid. Blood ran from the craters in her spotted, pink gums. She lapped it up as she tried to stand.

A group of teenagers wearing letterman jackets that looked on the verge of breaking at the seams trudged forward as a unit, knocking others to the side. They elbowed at each other as they went, all trying to bully their way to the front of the pack. One of them trampled over the older woman. His knee collided with the back of her head, sending her back to the ground, her face hurtling back to the cement. He stepped on the back of her head, grinding her in, but took no notice.

The woman, her face a mess of red and black, stood up and continued toward the restaurant. Her church dress had torn down the front, revealing her dried out flesh beneath, but she could only think of one thing. And it lay beyond those glass doors.

More and more came—all the same. They chanted, not as one, but every one of them voiced their desires.

“Food.”

“So...hungry.”

“My stomach. Need to eat...”

“Buffet… I need the buffet.”

They gathered at the doors, pushing and shoving and pressing into each other. Fat mashed together, forming one, flailing tsunami of lard and thrashing limbs and drooling mouths and wide eyes.

The glass bent from the pressure of them all. The restaurant was dark, but they could see the gleaming stainless steel of the buffet.