Friday, June 25, 2010


The music was well under way when Tiny opened his eyes. The sun and complete exhaustion prevented him from opening them all the way. The music was faint, but it was there enough to remind him of where he was before his eyes could take any of it in.

The crowd was all around him. He was surrounded by people, as he had remembered being shortly before he apparently blacked-out. The rest of the evening was completely lost to him, but this was nothing new to Tiny.

He reached down beside him for a beer, but he hadn't been able to feel any. When he tried to pry his eyes open to an acceptable state of awareness and search for a brew, he realized that none of the people around him were dancing. They weren't moving at all. Hundreds of them surrounded him, all turned in his direction, staring.

They all had blank looks on their faces pointed right at him, as if waiting for him to awaken and start the show, while the real show was going on behind them, and not a one seemed to care.

He felt starved, and the stares made Tiny uncomfortable. He felt bloated and wanted a trip to the toilet, so he made an attempt to move. He felt a pinching as he moved his muscles at first, and then a severe burn from his ass to his thighs. These were not the normal pains of too long in a chair, and no one knew that better than Tiny. Upon examining himself, he realized that as he leaned in either direction, the chair came with him, the umbrella above his head with it.

His underside had fused itself to the chair he had remained in for almost an entire day. He grunted in pain as he felt the flesh tear when he tried to move, then screamed when he could't pull at it anymore.

Looking around himself, he discovered a puddle of his own filth and blood beneath him. His stomach was bloated and risen while the rest of him sagged tremendously. He could feel flabs of skin and fat falling off him, like he was melting in the hot sun. He saw patches of discoloration in the skin throughout his body, and his veins were all visibly black. The more he moved the more he tore at the skin stuck to the chair and his gobs of fat hung lower to the ground.

His movements stirred up the scent of his own putrefaction and he vomited, covering his chin and chest with an acidic bile that killed his senses, and he lost conciousness again.

Everyone remained staring at him. No one said anything or made a movement. They looked on as this enormous human slowly became a massive, pungent blob of decay. None of them reeled from the odor, or shied from the sight as chunks of meat spilled away from Tiny's body and plopped into the sea of discharge, which insects were working their way through.

The band, unaware no one was really paying any attention, just kept on playing, but the sound was all terribly out of key and sync.

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