DEATH BY CAKE

“Where’s the cake come from?” cried Laura, as she waltzed in Monday morning.
I pretended not to know, but I was rewarding them for going on a night out without inviting me, because I was fat and they were embarrassed to be seen with me.  I’d made a wonderful sticky chocolate cake, its smell pervaded the office.  I intended to put them on a diet.
Later, Mandy circled the cake, deliberating over calories and fat content, but she was the office fittie, she’d go running later and work it all off.  Secure in this belief, she tucked in and the others followed.  Later in the afternoon, there was an unfortunate accident, Mandy tripped over a heater that had been left in the way of her desk by someone and twisted her ankle, poor thing, no more running for six weeks.  On Tuesday they came in to find cookies.
“Where are these from?” asked Greta, sniffing them and making appreciative noises.
I shrugged; “Boss, I guess.  It’s a Tuesday morning pick me up!”
I’d made them the night before and I’d ground some weight gain supplements into the mix.
So, it went on, it’s funny how habits form, they soon got used to their daily treats – cupcakes, chocolates gateaux, cream slices, cookies, biscuits ... They stopped asking where they were from and took it for granted that there’d always be a tempting indulgence on every desk.  Pretty soon, they couldn’t drink their morning coffee or afternoon tea unaccompanied by something sweet and if anyone was stuck, I soon provided a justification.  “It’s been a hard day”, “Mandy needs comfort food for her ankle pain”, “Surely you need something to get you through that nightmare meeting”.

I watched their bodies changing.  Adding huge quantities of sugar and butter, plus the weight gain supplements to my baking really did the trick.  As they got bigger, they became miserable and ate more, two or three treats a day, while I stuck to my salad.  Mandy’s beautifully toned legs became flabby, her thighs chafed as she walked, she didn’t fancy going back to her exercise regime when her ankle healed, she was too embarrassed.  Greta could no longer get into her midriff exposing tops, because there was too much midriff to expose.  Laura got bingo wings at the tender age of nineteen and Clare, poor Clare, Clare’s chair collapsed.  They stopped going on their nights out and started talking about diets.  Oh, they tried to be healthy, but they just got hungry and the baking I brought in smelt so good.  My weight fell off and they noticed, they envied my will power and my wardrobe.

It’s been months now and I find myself the thin one.  I’m bringing them cream cakes today at 7am, I’ll leave once I’ve arranged them round the desks and return just after they do, so they won’t suspect me.  I’ll leave the chocolate eclairs next to Mandy’s desk, they’re her favourite ....

“I thought it was you,” a voice interrupts.  I turn, Mandy is standing there; “girls, I was right!” she’s glaring at me.  In come Greta, Laura and Clare, their pudgy faces furious, eyes narrow.
“You did this to us!  You made us fat!” accuses Greta.
“Look what you’ve done to our bodies!” shrieks Clare.
“Let’s get her!” suggests Laura.
“It’s time for you to eat!” Mandy snarls.
Before I can run, they surround me, cream cakes in hand, I try to push passed them, but they grab me, slamming me down on a desk.  Greta forces open my jaw and Mandy shoves the first cake in, an iced doughnut.  I can’t escape from all their combined weight.  I try to tell them I can’t breathe, but a cream horn from Clare follows and Laura is pinching my nose closed.
“Eat them!” orders Mandy, but her voice is from far away, I can’t breath, the room is darkening, there’s cream in my lungs, sugar up my nose and pastry in my mouth ... it’s been so long since I had a treat, it feels really good ...