Here is a short story I wrote awhile back and recently updated. I’ll run it in three parts. Let me know what you think.
I don’t know how much time I have left. Doctors say they can’t stop it and my skin is already stretched to the bursting point. I resemble a hydroponic tomato filled with enough water to reach pumpkin status. Last time they weighed me, the truck scale read 1200 pounds.
The bomb squad used a crane to place me in the middle of our little league baseball field and taped off an area large enough to keep people at a safe distance. If I squint my eyes, I can make out my crying mother surrounded by the curious and several fellow students from Monahans High School. The number of people who have showed up is amazing; a bigger turnout than at the Jaycee’s July 4th fireworks celebration. Maybe I should hold a flare in each hand to make my demise, when it comes, more entertaining?
I know I am to blame for my current situation, but I just couldn’t stand it any longer. The kids at my school picked on me constantly. Teasing me online as well as right to my face, with comments like, “Hey runt, stand up when you speak to me,” or “When did they start letting second graders attend high school.” With my tiny frame, bullies had no problem stuffing me into wall lockers or tossing me through the basketball hoop in the gym. I grew tired of always being the last one picked for sports and having girls laugh in my face when I asked for a date.
Jimmy, the bomb squad leader, who helped bring me to my final resting spot, assuming there won’t be enough of me left to scrape up and bury, asked, “Tom, how much longer? I’m due at my bowling league in twenty minutes.”
My stomach gurgled and my circumference increased four more inches. A button popped off my tent-sized shirt, flew toward the crowd, and almost put out a spectator’s eye.
“Any minute now, Jimmy,” I assured him.
Before I leave this life…let me share with you the story of how I got in this predicament.
Copyright Richard Allan Jones 2018