Take out or Delivery

I'm not quite sure where it started. My entire life I remember having the freedom to eat whatever I wanted. I lived with my grandmother, who had to work double shifts at the hospital to support us. As a result I was home by myself a lot. She kept the fridge stocked with velveeta cheese and soda, and I don't ever remember a day when there wasn't at least one package of Oreos in the cabinet. 

I watched a lot of TV.  Since I was home by myself my grandmother didn't want me wandering the streets where I could get into trouble, so I stayed inside. She got me almost every video game system out there and if I wasn't flipping channels for hours on end I was playing something on Nintendo or Xbox. 

Grandma passed away about 10 years ago, leaving me just enough inheritance to keep me indoors. I've never had a job and I've spent more time watching TV than I've spent outside my house. 

These days its almost impossible to leave anyway. I haven't weighed myself in 3 years, and I think I've probably added at least 100 lbs since then. I have my groceries delivered but mostly eat pizza, subs, and occasionally Chinese. When I get hungry I just order it, and its brought right to my couch for me. I don't even bother to lock the door anymore, since its almost impossible to get off the couch.  I don't have anything worth stealing really, and with the exception of a few bratty kids down the hall, most everyone seems to like me.  Shucks, most of the delivery guys even know me by name. 

I'm ashamed of how I've ended up, but I don't have much of a choice these days. I'm always tired and just getting up to use the bathroom will wear me out for hours. Earlier today I had to go and almost didn't make it in time.  I worry about my delivery driver friends. If they find me sitting in a pile

 of my own crap I can't imagine they'll want to come by much any more. Not that their visits were social anyway. 

I don't know how long I'd been sleeping, but when I woke up the TV was off. Reaching for the remote I clicked it with no result. I looked into the bedroom and saw the digital clock on my bedside table was off. Must be a power outage. I reached for my cordless phone and tried to dial a number but it was dead too. No power to the base unit. 

I tossed it on the table in front of me. I hadn't prepared for this. Without power I couldn't watch TV, couldn't play video games, couldn't make phone calls to order dinner. I closed my eyes, hoping that when I opened them the power would be restored. No such luck. 

I reached for the only reading material I had, an eight month old edition of Gamers magazine. I flipped through the pages idly. I'd read all this stuff ages ago, and tried to re-read some of the articles I'd actually been interested in. I felt like I had it memorized, and I threw the magazine across the room, hearing it thump loudly on the shared wall between my unit and the one next door. 

My stomach rumbled. Not a good sign. I began to imagine that some natural disaster had wiped out the entire power grid and a librarian or college professor was now responsible for saving the city. He would, of course, have a confident, attractive young woman by his side, probably a reporter, someone sassy and sexy to accompany him on his epic quest. Oddly enough the hero looked a lot like me. Well, not exactly like me. He had my face, my brain, but hair like Pierce Brosnan and a body like, well, someone who worked out a lot.  The girl was amazing of course. She was Jennifer Anniston, no, Angelina Jolie. I smiled again as I had a mental make out session with her in the corner of a crowded street.  

I was disturbed from my fantasy coma by a slow banging on the front door. Had one of my pals known about the blackout and come to bring me a meal?  I was elated and grateful. "Come in" I called out. "The door is open!" I watched in anticipation for the doorknob to move, but it did not. Instead, as though in response to my calls, the pounding grew in intensity. "I said come in!" I called out again, only louder.  

A second pair of hands joined the first, and it sounded like guns and roses was doing a drum solo on my front door. I watched as the wood began to buckle and felt helplessly immobilized by my size. I attempted to sit up, to move to the end of the couch and get to my feet but my muscles simply didn't have the strength.  Perhaps after a good meal I'd have the energy to stand, but I hadn't eaten in almost 6 hours and my body's energy reserves were completely spent. 

"It's not funny!" I called out, thinking this must be a prank by those punk kids down the hall. "If you break my door I'm gonna be pissed!" I called out, knowing I was helpless to back up my threat. At this the pounding seemed to double in intensity and the sheer violence of the attack began to scare me. How many kids were out there?  They were only like 10 years old, how could they be hitting the door so hard?  I felt the color drain from my face as the wood near the hinge began to split. 

Suddenly a massive crash sounded and the door burst open, twisting sideways on its hinge and falling into my living room. In the doorway stood several people I'd never seen before, their eyes covered in a thick yellow paste, their hair mottled and dank. They sniffed the air like animals, cocking their heads to the side as if they were listening. "Is this some kind of joke?" I asked and watched in horror as their collective attention moved my direction. One let out a deathly moan that chilled my bones and I felt the warm trickle of urine soak the couch cushions beneath me. I was powerless to move and felt tears streak down my face as their teeth clamped onto the folds of skin covering my legs.