K. Scott Forman
Glüton's Christmas is the first in a series of stories that will star Glüton, a tragic hero not unlike Ǽon Flux. We hope you enjoy this piece, and those to follow in upcoming issues.
Glüton looked forward to Christmas more than any other holiday, except of course, every other holiday with food. Christmas had food written all over it. The turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, candied yams, and pumpkin pie were a distant Thanksgiving memory, and the Halloween treats were as gone as the leaves on the trees. Christmas was only weeks away: a date of delicacy and delight in Glüton's day planner.
Glüton had lived for many years above a bakery, and worked there during the day. Unfortunately, his sampling of the wares had forced his relocation and career change.
The smell of bread had been Glüton's favorite, although eating it was his favorite too. He had cried, but soon the sweet and sour pork, sesame chicken, and fried rice from the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet had dried Glüton's tears. He had also found a wonderful job playing Santa at a department store near his new room. Things were looking up.
Glüton was made to play Santa - he would never be confused with a supermodel or an athlete, nor would he be caught flying commercial airlines or going to movie theaters - Glüton-sized seats were never part of the seat designers' plans. Gargantuan was a term to Glüton's liking, right up there with Big and Tall. Large was a term invented to describe Glüton's mouth, not his waistline, and super-sized was just a small attribute of his overall physical make-up: Glüton was a man around town.
It was said by his friends, which Glüton had many, that if eating was an occupation, not only was Glüton well qualified, but he would be a millionaire in no time. His habit was not unlike others his size: three square meals a day, with a good number of round meals inserted in-between. However, this Christmas, something changed in Glüton's life: Glüton was in love.
Fanny, the new girl in house wares, was a girl Glüton could get along with, a girl that shared his passion and diet, although riding in the same car or on the same bus was out of the question. She wasn't a snob, and would just as easily compliment a clerk at a convenience store on his wise choice of stocking the best in preservative-laden hot dogs, as she would the chef at Le Gardin in his choice to use lard instead of vegetable fat for its subtle nuances.
Glüton had been planning for days to ask her out, and when the opportunity presented itself - around doughnuts and coffee in the break room - he jumped, or at least hopped. She had said yes, and the two planned to spend Christmas Day, and dinner, together with some friends and co-workers.
When the day finally arrived, Glüton had been up all night preparing a sumptuous feast. He had even dipped into his saving to layout a spread of spreads, the crème de la crème of fine cuisine. He probably could have saved some money if he didn't insist on sampling everything he cooked -Glüton had to prepare two, sometimes three, of everything on the menu - he was a growing boy.
The seven course meal plus five was ready, but there was one final touch: Glüton hung a sprig of mistletoe just in front of the dessert table, a place he was sure he would run into Fanny.
Glüton's table was a sight to behold, or so his guests said. Each course came with high praise. Finally, the last of the main courses had been served and it was time for dessert. Glüton strategically placed himself near the table of pies and waited for Fanny.
The smell of homemade pie crust, of pumpkin, and ginger, and cinnamon made him dizzy. Soon, Glüton could only think of pie, and ice cream, of course. He started in on the pumpkin, and then on the cheesecake and apple, and even sampled a few slices of fruitcake.
Suddenly, Fanny was there, by his side, under the mistletoe looking at him. Then it happened. His esophagus suddenly felt like a hundred needled trees had been stuffed down it like pipe cleaners, their blinking lights blinking heat on his heart, which was blinking. The turkey, the five helpings of mashed potatoes, the pie and ice cream all flashed before his eyes. Fanny, the mistletoe, the kiss: everything went black.
Glüton would have wanted it that way, going out with a kiss under the mistletoe, even if it was the kiss of Death. His friends all hoped Death looked like Fanny.
Glüton had lived for many years above a bakery, and worked there during the day. Unfortunately, his sampling of the wares had forced his relocation and career change.
The smell of bread had been Glüton's favorite, although eating it was his favorite too. He had cried, but soon the sweet and sour pork, sesame chicken, and fried rice from the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet had dried Glüton's tears. He had also found a wonderful job playing Santa at a department store near his new room. Things were looking up.
Glüton was made to play Santa - he would never be confused with a supermodel or an athlete, nor would he be caught flying commercial airlines or going to movie theaters - Glüton-sized seats were never part of the seat designers' plans. Gargantuan was a term to Glüton's liking, right up there with Big and Tall. Large was a term invented to describe Glüton's mouth, not his waistline, and super-sized was just a small attribute of his overall physical make-up: Glüton was a man around town.
It was said by his friends, which Glüton had many, that if eating was an occupation, not only was Glüton well qualified, but he would be a millionaire in no time. His habit was not unlike others his size: three square meals a day, with a good number of round meals inserted in-between. However, this Christmas, something changed in Glüton's life: Glüton was in love.
Fanny, the new girl in house wares, was a girl Glüton could get along with, a girl that shared his passion and diet, although riding in the same car or on the same bus was out of the question. She wasn't a snob, and would just as easily compliment a clerk at a convenience store on his wise choice of stocking the best in preservative-laden hot dogs, as she would the chef at Le Gardin in his choice to use lard instead of vegetable fat for its subtle nuances.
Glüton had been planning for days to ask her out, and when the opportunity presented itself - around doughnuts and coffee in the break room - he jumped, or at least hopped. She had said yes, and the two planned to spend Christmas Day, and dinner, together with some friends and co-workers.
When the day finally arrived, Glüton had been up all night preparing a sumptuous feast. He had even dipped into his saving to layout a spread of spreads, the crème de la crème of fine cuisine. He probably could have saved some money if he didn't insist on sampling everything he cooked -Glüton had to prepare two, sometimes three, of everything on the menu - he was a growing boy.
The seven course meal plus five was ready, but there was one final touch: Glüton hung a sprig of mistletoe just in front of the dessert table, a place he was sure he would run into Fanny.
Glüton's table was a sight to behold, or so his guests said. Each course came with high praise. Finally, the last of the main courses had been served and it was time for dessert. Glüton strategically placed himself near the table of pies and waited for Fanny.
The smell of homemade pie crust, of pumpkin, and ginger, and cinnamon made him dizzy. Soon, Glüton could only think of pie, and ice cream, of course. He started in on the pumpkin, and then on the cheesecake and apple, and even sampled a few slices of fruitcake.
Suddenly, Fanny was there, by his side, under the mistletoe looking at him. Then it happened. His esophagus suddenly felt like a hundred needled trees had been stuffed down it like pipe cleaners, their blinking lights blinking heat on his heart, which was blinking. The turkey, the five helpings of mashed potatoes, the pie and ice cream all flashed before his eyes. Fanny, the mistletoe, the kiss: everything went black.
Glüton would have wanted it that way, going out with a kiss under the mistletoe, even if it was the kiss of Death. His friends all hoped Death looked like Fanny.
copyright 2006 Fear Knocks
K. Scott Forman currently teaches writing at Weber State University, is a graduate student at the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics, and loves to fly fish. He is the editor of Fear Knocks, loves to read and write, and is currently working on a number of writing projects, to include a thriller set in Central America - Temple of the Dark - a suspense novel - Some Kind of Monster - a historic fiction piece based on the Book of Mormon - Akish: Merchant of Death - and lastly, a semi-autobiographical piece based on his experiences with his autistic son. Oh yeah, and lots of haikus.