Game 2Game 2 Outline| Game 2 |
Game 2 Outline |
Spurred on by the thought of calorie-packed Paradise, you immediately try and haul yourself upright again, but meet with slightly less success than last time. After straining to bend around your frankly monstrous middle, you flop back and spreadeagle on the floor, t-shirt ruckled up around your armpits and the remains of your overalls straining to contain your heaving bulk. Your belly fells like a dead-weight on top of you, or a ridiculously large beanbag. You can feel sweat starting to pour down your tough skin.
After a few minutes, your stomach eloquently prompts you to get a move on. Grumbling to yourself in rhino (which you seem amazingly fluent in) you heave you top half up, throwing your chubby arms forwards to try and build some momentum. Your belly compresses again, nearly cutting off your entire air supply, but you do surprisingly well. You manage to get to around 45 degrees off vertical before your aching muscles and oxygen deprivation force you to relax. The floor shakes as you hit it again with a vaguely gelatinous sound.
Third time lucky. Gritting your teeth, nostrils flaring, you take a deep breath and again try to lever yourself into a sitting position, at least. You've seen acrobats flip themselves from flat on the floor to standing, but even if you could defy the laws of phsyics like that, you have a nasty feeling the house would collapse from the thump. You try to ignore the feeling of pressure building up as you sit up, moving like a whale through strawberry jam. You feel your back trembling as you approach verical, feeling like you're pushing a boulder up a very slippery hill. Nearly there... GOT IT! You desperately slam your hands flat on the ground to support yourself, and come to a quivering halt a few degrees from vertical. At the same time, your belly shoves forwards and down, spreading your legs wide. There's a 'ping' from the seat of your overalls, signifying a stitch parting company with the fabric. You feel a dizzying sense of triumph, then realise that its oxygen deprivation, the air inside you exhausted and anyway taking up far too much volume for comfort. You breathe out and gasp in relief, sitting there.
Then you whimper as you feel your hands slipping on the smooth floorboards, and realise that your compressed belly is STILL expanding back out. You strain against it, scrabbling pitifully, but your girth's pressure is irresistible. It forces you to lean back, shoving against both you and the ground. Suddenly, your hands slide out from under you and you tumble backwards, your belly resuming its expanded (and apparently habitual) shape. Not only that, but instead of laying you out you've just unceremoniously tipped backwards, your body still in a sitting position. In the ringing silence that follows, you have a suspicion that the universe is sniggering.
Of course, you could probably lose weight by doing these sit-ups all night, but you don't feel quite ready for that yet. You glare at the curved horizon of your bulk, trying to formulate plan B. Just then, the rounded shape gives you an idea. Hell, you're nearly spherical anyway. Why not roll upright?
Written by Lupine