Game 2Game 2 Outline| Game 2 |
Game 2 Outline |
"I'm sorry", you sniffle, ripping a few more stitches in your shirt as you strain to wipe your running nose. "I just don't know what else to do."
"Well", grumbles Fred as he looks you over, "I'll admit you make Dom DeLuise look like Jack Lalanne, but it isn't like the situation's hopeless."
"But I already tried exercise", you moan, gazing dispiritedly down at the rolling vistas of your belly. "Even when I was smaller than this, I couldn't do anything in the gym." Your knees aching fiercely, you decide to sit down, and waddle toward the bed.
"You can walk", scoffs the wolf. "If you hadn't bought those stinking diet pills, you probably would've lost the weight originally. Now, though ... " He trails off, pondering something.
"Any ideas?", you ask as you begin lowering yourself to the inviting softness of your mattress.
"A few", muses Fred. "First of ... DON'T SIT DOWN!", he yells as he looks your way.
But it's too late. You try to stop yourself, but the brief struggle causes your leg muscles to cramp in protest. Yelling at the sudden pain, you drop to the bed ... which, with one small creak, collapses beneath the strain, dropping both mattress and box springs to the floor. Falling with them, you land flat on your back, your gelatinous belly rippling like a rock-struck pond at the impact. Suddenly, you can't breathe! You twist desperately, trying to shift your weight into a more diaphragm-friendly position, but only succeed in rocking yourself in place, your lungs screaming for air as the weight of your paunch prevents your rib cage from expanding.
Suddenly, you feel a cold nose at your side. Fred! With his help, you're able to roll to your side, then drop to rest on the flab that spreads beneath you like melted ice cream.
"That was close", pants Fred. "I forgot your body wouldn't be used to all this extra weight yet. We have to do something."
"But what?", you snap as your breath returns. "There's no way I can get up off the floor!"
"For what I have in mind", the wolf replies testily, "you won't have to."
You fall silent and listen.
"First", Fred continues, "I could bite you again, and see if that would turn you all the way into a wolf, the way I am now. You'd still be huge", he admits, "but something my size burns Calories faster than something your size."
"Great", you murmur. "And what do I do about not having any hands?"
"I didn't say it was perfect", he answers with a rough attempt at a shrug. "But within a few days, you'd probably be down to a manageable weight."
"What's the other option?"
"Well", opines Fred, "it's a long shot ... but if you bite me at the same instant I bite you, I figure we might change bodies."
"How does that help?", you ask quizzically. "All that does is leave me here with no hands and you with a gut the size of the White House."
"Yeah", snaps Fred, "but I can stick to a diet! I'll do all the diet and exercise, and you can run around looking for a cure for whatever did this to me in the first place. From the looks of that bay window", he adds pointedly, looking at your fleshy anchor, "you'd probably get done first."
"I don't think I like either of those ideas", you respond. "Isn't there another way?"
"It was the easy way out that got you into this mess, remember? But, hey, if you have a better idea, I'm all ears."
You think hard and decide ...
Written by Wanderer