“My...stomach. It needs it, cousin. I have to...eat. Eat it all up.”

Juan reached for Manuel’s shoulder, but his cousin bared his teeth and snapped at the hand. Juan backed away, shaking his head.

Can I help him? Is it too late?

Manuel yanked at boxes and plastic packaging and brought them crashing to the ground. Raw chicken breasts, beef shoulder roasts, pork tenderloin. Packages of spices and bread crumbs and sauces. It all rained down on him and he grabbed whatever his fingers could wrap around first and gorged. He moaned erotically as his mouth was filled and food slid down his throat.

Juan held his hand over his mouth. The familiar tang of acid coated the back of his throat as he watched. Manuel swallowed chicken breasts whole, biting down on the meat to go through the motions rather than to actually chew the food. His throat bulged like a snake swallowing a rat, and Manuel would choke and make a clicking sound until finally getting it down. He never slowed. His hands slammed food into his face faster than he could swallow.

Juan turned to escape watching it any more, and found himself looking into the barrel of a pistol. Behind it, Mr. Chan stared at him with narrowed eyes.

SEA OF FAT

Lola’s car nearly rolled over as she slammed her foot against the brake pedal. It skidded across the parking lot and barely missed smashing into one of the light poles.

Then she saw them.

Jesus Christ.

Panic rose from her stomach and into her throat. A scream wanted to escape, but she breathed through it. Just the sight of so many bulbous bodies, so many rolls of fat, threatened to take hold of her sanity and squeeze it until it crumbled away.

She couldn’t help it. No matter how hard she tried to stop it, she was powerless. Every one of them became her father.

They looked like oil in a deep fryer, bubbling and wriggling and undulating in front of the glass. Arms flailed, fingers groped. Sweat gleamed and sparkled from jiggling skin. From where Lola sat, she could see them biting into each other, chewing and licking. Blood caked the ground beneath them. Even with her windows rolled up, she heard them. She heard the congregation of Daddies sucking and groaning and grunting. From inside of her head, she could hear him calling her, begging her to join, to be with him again. To let him take her into his body like she had done with him, over and over and over. He wanted her inside of him now.

Lola! Come to us, baby. Let our teeth and fingers pull you apart. Let Daddy taste you.

Moisture leaked from her hands and made the steering wheel slick. She banged her forehead against it, letting the pain calm her. Her hand throbbed as she tried to clench it.

“Leave me a-alone. You’re dead. I’m glad you’re dead.”

I’m right here.

She wondered why her mother didn’t speak to her. Why she didn’t do something to help her. If her father had the power to torture her from beyond the grave, then surely she could to.