Columbus, Ohio, 2042.

Jake Joseph-Jackson, thirty five years old, 678 lbs, sits in his armchair in his house. He is dead. His favourite sixth wave ska band is still playing on his antique record player. The upbeat tempo of the triple trombones is ill-befitting the scene. The lively record continues to spin, pumping out songs in major key, unlike his heart. His bloated face is as grey as the November sky outside. Rain drizzles down his window. Piss drizzles down his inner thigh and stains the cushion of his chair. Only three minutes earlier he had been singing along to the lyrics of his new favourite song. Now jaundice is setting into his bare swollen feet. Whatever he was doing before is irrelevant, for Jake it is over.

The heart attack was massive and came without warning. He felt it, but only for a few brief seconds. The worst pain ever, followed by….. His eyes are open, sunken. His teeth stained yellow by Cheez-Its and cigarettes. The TV is on but muted. Jake still has a TV. If he had known he might have questioned. He had been promised. Promises worth no more than the shit in the sewer below him. The inevitable conclusion of a life of excess. Another dead fat Surplus loser.

All his best friends were gainerheads. That’s how he’d gotten into it, like so many others. Where were those friends now? The carpet was as brown as his chair. A teen with low self-esteem he had found comfort in food and solace in his size. Sexual attention based on his growth. It fed him. Gaining was his life, it had taken over it. It took it. This was the life he’d chosen?

The wind blew his letterbox open. It slammed closed with a bang. He still has a letterbox. The sixty ounce cappuccino next to him is now cold. Who wants a cold cappuccino? The chair sags under his weight. Whoever comes to take him out will not thank him. The only son of a single mother he was born by caesarean section. Cut into and out of the world. When he was young he had believed himself to be a hero, a liberator of the obese. Now he was the one who had been liberated. Thick dry grey lips, unkissed. The trumpet played. The carpet once cream, from the 2000’s, browned from age and the reality of death where he sat. A scene of misery punctuated by bass and treble.

He bought the house with his inheritance. He had considered himself fortunate when his Mom died young. He had no one to not care for him. His gainer friends would just consider him weak. Not worthy of more. Giving in at only 678 lbs? They were clearly superior. They would continue to eat, and continue to grow. Continue to gain more than Jake. His phone buzzes. The delivery is five minutes away. It doesn’t matter, his card was precharged.