Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search

Average Rating

(1 votes)

RatingRated by

You must login to vote

Chocolate Steak

People were always telling me I needed to lose weight. Them, with their flat stomachs and their celebrated looks, just looking at them gave me the sudden feeling that I was going to puke. What would they know about the advantages of obesity? That might sound a little crazy but I have my excuses. Besides the fact that I’m most likely to have a heart attack at a very early age, and that I find myself utterly exhausted simply by “up-ending” myself from my seat, they will never experience what I have. I am completely happy with my life and, without exaggerating, I can tell you that I am at peace with myself.

Thus, the tale of my excessive eating problem and the strange “meat” which found its way into my system so easily, and left me begging for my life.

It was just another day to spend on the couch, watching TV and eating whenever I felt the need.

I could not for the life of me find the remote to the television. In the pathetic state I was in, I’m sure I was having trouble finding my own feet. It must have been something I ate; I was feeling very nauseous. I have felt like this before though, sometimes a dirty cockroach would slither onto my plate without me knowing (or caring). The condition passes. Disgusting little bastards.

There was something different with my condition, though. Before, I remember waiting for it to pass by, not hallucinating in the process. I was quite sure the multi-colored dog sitting on top of my television wasn’t real. I stared at it for hours, and it stared back. Panting. Barking, sometimes.

I felt a strange need to pet the dog, but I couldn’t stand up. Bounded but not tied up. Maybe I was afraid if I got up it would induce vomiting. By the time I could make it to the bathroom, all the contents in my belly would be splashing at my feet as I try to hustle.

So, I sat. Over a period of time, the dog transformed into many different things. I watched them explode into a ball of smoke and then mutate into a completely different form. All different colors, too. A variety of animals, products I can buy on TV, roasted ham, cheeseburgers, and the like.

Then, in the midst of my euphoria, I saw myself, sitting atop of the television, just like the little puppy. My uneducated mind could not conjure a single reason or explanation of what was going on. I sat and stared at the image of myself. Then, out of my confusion, I spoke, to me.

“Uh, hey Kirsty…Um, can you please tell me what’s happening?”

Myself did not answer me. I remember seeing the lips moving but all I heard were strange sounds. Like cats crying, or babies screaming. Frankly, it scared the hell out of me, and I wanted it to stop immediately. I yelled at myself, telling me to stop, but the image just sat there and moaned.

I tried everything. I prayed to God to make it stop, I threw things at the image of myself, but they just bounced off the wall behind me and hit the floor. Eventually, I came up with the idea to block the hallucination out. I curled up into a ball and placed my arms over my ears to block out that wretched noise.

After about an hour, I became extremely tired. I gave one last glance at the image. It was still there, but it wasn’t me anymore. The image had transformed back to the dog again, but it wasn’t yapping, just that same horrid groaning sound that has been echoing throughout my trailer walls for hours.

I turned my eyes back towards the couch, and despite all the racket, I fell asleep.

Wait; let’s back up.

Back then I attended a therapy group that helped me lose weight, called “Obesity Anonymous.” I desperately needed it at the time. Back then I’m sure I weighed at least four hundred pounds.

Chocolate, like for many others, was my main weakness. I ate chocolate like an athlete drank water. Chocolate bar after chocolate bar, I felt my belt become tighter and tighter, and I didn’t care.

The other members of the group were not as heavy as I was. I outweighed them all. The men and women who came every week needed a sanctuary away from their couches and refrigerators. I came for sympathy. I received more compliments than any other group member, which made me feel good about myself. It kept my confidence at a non-suicide level. Therefore, I ate more and more.

After a while, I quit going to the group every week. Oh, I still went, just not on a regular basis. For the most part, it was because I was lazy, which was obviously cause by my weight.

The chocolate addiction got worse everyday. When my shift ended at the local Gas & Shop, I would hurry home so that the stolen chocolate bars in my XL jacket pocket wouldn’t melt too much. I suppose my manager suspected my crimes, but there were no security cameras in the store, and it was only candy, it wasn’t like I was stealing money. When I got home I would immediately hit the couch and stuff my fat face full of the stolen goodies. Then I would fall asleep, with the TV still on, and blanketed by an abundant amount of aluminum foil candy wrappers. Sometimes, I would have inexplicable, subtle dreams, and their main them were always chocolate. I was obsessed, and would always crave it. I had no problem with that.

In one of the dreams, the most reoccurring one, I am sitting at a dinner table in restaurant I have never eaten at before. It seems like it is a little fancy; food servers in tuxedos, businessmen in ties, with their mistresses, or wives. They treat them all the same anyway. I remember that I was wearing what I wear virtually every night: A stained white T-shirt and sweat pants (I don’t have a washing machine in my trailer).

Right after realizing that there is no menu on my table, a waiter approaches.

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise. Nice to have you again Kirsty. I can see that you are looking marvelous, as always.” He said, opposing sarcasm. Strange.

“Are you having the usual?” He asked very politely.

I remember answering him, but I could not hear what I was saying. I sounded like I had food shoved in my mouth, but I was not eating anything.

“Any how would you like that cooked, my dear?” The waiter beckoned, with his fake, pretty smile.

“Rare,” I said smiling, able to speak clearly.

My meal must contain some sort of meat product. This assumption coming from the waiter’s earlier exchanges and mine.

Seconds after the somewhat attractive waiter left my table, he returned with my dish. He set it on the tablecloth in front of me, and I remember smelling something sweet, like chocolate. I looked down at the dish and just stared. I was surprised at the absurdity of what I was looking at.

“Is there a problem dear?” The waiter asked.

I was going to lie and say no, but the curiosity scratched at my brain. I had to ask.

“I’m sorry, but what did I order again?” I laughed under my breath as I implored.

“It’s Chocolate Steak.” The waiter laughed. “Were you expecting something else?”

“Oh, no! I must have been misunderstood. I’m sorry, I thought I had ordered something away from the usual.” Giving the waiter a confused look as he smiled and walked away.

Chocolate Steak. Cooked as rare as possible. I giggled a little, who would have ever known? With three or four very ample bites, the delicious entrée had vanished entirely, and you know what? It was the most delicious feast anybody could ever dream of.

Then that is the end of the dream. I awake from my stomach growling slumber.

When I sat up on the couch, I felt hungry. The clock read three-fourteen A.M. So why was I hungry? Maybe it was just me, or it could have possibly been from the strange dream.

I laid on my couch for hours trying to convince myself to get off my fat ass and fix something to eat. During this time, images of delicious meals soared through my mind. I planned for them to fill my massive belly.

By the time I finally pulled myself off the couch, it was one in the afternoon. Damnit. I was late for my obesity group; I really wanted to go this week. Frustrated from the position I was in all that time (on my face); I tried my best to get aroused from laziness as quickly ass possible.

Two hours was the estimated period of time it took me to get out of bed, eat, and make it to the church.

When I finally got there, I felt like a giant hollow mass, I felt like one of those senior citizens who to the shopping malls and have absolutely no idea where they are, or what to do. I knew exactly where I was, but why was I there? Any normal fellow who wakes up late for something, and doesn’t make it there until two hours later, should know that most likely they missed their designated plans.

I began to weep. I sat on the curb in front of the church and cupped my hands to my face. All the overwhelming feelings of stupidity and frustration splashed over my body like a massive wave. This means today I won’t have anybody tell me, “You’re not fat. You’re a caterpillar in the cocoon stage, ready to bloom into a beautiful butterfly.”

At that thought, I started to bawl.

Walking back home wasn’t easy as usual. I never owned a car because I’m too hefty to get in one, and if I did, I would most likely tip it. Well that’s my theory anyway.

I thought about Mr. Donny from the obesity group, and how much weight he lost through a six-month period of attending the group. He went from three hundred and fifty pounds down to one hundred and eighty. He left the group and went off and got hitched with a hot dame. Why can’t something like that happen to me? I couldn’t even make it to the damn group by myself. I was pathetic, really.

After about another hour, I finally made it back home. Walking down my walkway, I noticed a box at the foot of my door. What could it be? I have no friends, I hide from my family, or they hide from me, and I especially haven’t expected any deliveries.

Staring at the cardboard box while unlocking the door of my trailer, I noticed that the packaged contained no postage marks, not even a return address, just my name, in black, bold letters.

Inside, I waddled to the couch and sat down, with the box in my lap. Impatiently, I shredded the box open, like a child opening gifts at Christmas.


I brushed all the debris off my lap to study it closer. It felt cold and fleshy inside of its paper wrapping, almost like meat.

My stomach gurgled.

Surprisingly, I was hungry. But why? I get a box at my door and all I can think about is eating. I had already eaten an entire box of donuts and two bowls of cereal for breakfast, and that was only three hours ago. I can usually go for maybe four hours without getting hungry again. Did I already mention I was pathetic? Anyway, this was a different hunger, like something wanted me to eat. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

I pulled off the paper, and I guessed right. It was a steak. This wasn’t the usual Porterhouse you go and buy from the deli though, this one smelled of chocolate. As soon as the aroma entered my nostrils, I knew exactly what it was.

Chocolate Steak.

The steak was different from what I remember from the dream, probably because I couldn’t recall much from the dream. The flesh wasn’t pink or white, but dark brown. There were no bones nor was there nay fat. Also, it had a thin, ellipses shape.

My belly rumbled louder. The Déjà vu was overwhelming. The chocolate steak beckoned.

I had to eat it. I couldn’t hold back any longer. Do I cook it? I don’t think chocolate steak is in my library of recipe books. Too hungry to think, I rushed to the kitchen and flipped on the grill. I had opted to cook it for safety purposes; I didn’t want to become ill from some foreign steak.

The steak sizzled as soon as it landed on the heated metal. The smell was more than I could bear. I cooked it as if it were beef. I liked my beef rare.

In five stomach-gurgling moments, the steak was flipped onto a dish, and brought to my favorite place on the most comfortable couch.

This is where everything goes haywire.

The illusion of the somewhat skinnier version of me sitting on top of my television had long gone by now.

I had managed to crawl to a dark corner of the room, near a window. I remember longing to see the moon, but there was no moon in that portion of the sky, which made me sad.

In my pitiable corner, I cried, I laughed, I sang child hood songs, which also made me cry. Also, I had come up with a large amount of vomit onto myself. I was covered in putrescence, and completely lethargic.

There were no more illusions. I sat for hours upon hours in my filthy corner, in a drug-like state, vomiting continuously on myself. Fortunately, after staring at the pools of vomit, I noticed that they contained large (and small) glistening masses, which were hopefully the chocolate. I had already assumed that the steak did this to me. Sometimes I outsmart myself.

The sun had come up. I watched the plain white color on the trailer next to mine brighten. I hadn’t vomited in a good while, but there was still the aftermath.

In my trailer, a fairly large crowd of people showed up about an hour before. They just appeared. I don’t remember anybody knocking or coming through the front door, and they seemed to have made themselves at home. At first, they were unrecognizable. Their faces were smoky blurs, like when the illusions changed shape. Were these people also just illusions? Then, one by one, their faces started to take form, and I instantly perceived them. This was my obesity group. How odd of them to come over at a time like this. How odd of them to come over period!

It seemed none of them noticed me. Even Mr. Donny was there, as thin as ever. I tried to call his name but no words came forth. I’m also sure the smell coming from my corner was overpowering. I’ve sat in it for so long now, the stench was acquired for me. I didn’t even get a quick glance out of one of them. They would walk right by me and step in my pretty vomit pools without care. I know these people must have a little decency. They stood around and mingled with each other for a while. It reminded me of how it used to be before each session. How we held back our deepest, darkest confessions by asking cowardly questions such as: “What supermarket do you shop at?” or “What’s your favorite fast food restaurant?” Until the session started.

I sat for at least three more hours until I realized one of them noticed me. Across the room there was a fairly attractive man standing by himself, staring at me. He was a little familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him. His gaze was creepy, but at the same time, as I gawked back, it was like my entire life made sense.

The stranger began to walk towards me. I concentrated on his eyes as he approached, and I realized who he was.

The pretty waiter.

Usually I am surprised by my own apprehensions, but I barely noticed this time. I just kept staring at those astonishing baby blue eyes. As he came closer, I began to weep again. The awareness of my life mixed with shock and bliss deemed me lonely and unhappy. I finally realized what I had to do, and that was to quit eating.

He was standing at my corner now, and he was gaping at the disgusting mess that I was. I recalled every embarrassing moment of my life (which took a little while), but this was the most humiliating moment I’ve ever experienced.

“Hello, Kirsty.” The waiter said quite enthusiastically, but without smiling.

I couldn’t speak. The impression he gave me was unbearable.

“Stop sniveling, there’s no reason why you should be crying. I just want to help.”

Help? A waiter comes to me from a dream and wants to help me? Apparently he did because after his caring words. My crying had ceased.

“Why do you want to help me?” My voice sounded as if it had been through the blender.

“It’s a very long story, and I want you in the finest state possible before I let you know anything. You should see yourself right now. Terrible. But that’s all going to change very soon.”

He then gave me a long hard look, and I felt confused. The last thing I remember was watching him move his hands slightly over my face. After that, unconsciousness.

I woke up on the couch. I was clean and the trailer was empty. I didn’t see or smell any vomit in the trailer. Maybe it was a dream, but I wasn’t quite sure about anything anymore.

For one thing though, I had some how lost a large amount of weight, at least two hundred pounds. Another is that I wasn’t hungry at all. I’m usually starving when I wake. I couldn’t imagine even eating a piece of candy.

I didn’t understand.

I decided to go open the refrigerator to see if there was something in there that might bring out the hunger in me. Maybe I was just confused. I got up off the couch, which was surprisingly easier by my sudden loss of weight. I opened the door of the fridge and there was nothing on the shelves. All my candy bars and fatty foods were gone, missing. My head span with perplexity. What the hell was going on?

Suddenly I heard a sound from the bathroom. My eyes darted toward the door, which was closed. The noise came again, and again. It was like something was falling into the toilet water. An acute fear beheld me. I had to open the door and see what or who was in my bathroom. The feeling reminded me of the horror movies I always watch late at night on my couch. The victim, all alone, heard something behind the door, and when he or she opened it, there was the killer or monster, with and axe or glistening teeth. But they’re just movies, this is real. That thought fueled the desire to open the door. I reached for the doorknob, and turned it. I slowly opened it, afraid of an axe or teeth.

I couldn’t understand.

It wasn’t a dream. The waiter was still here. There he was, squatting butt naked with his feet upon the top of the toilet. He was covered in strange markings, spirals and mystical designs of some sort. He didn’t notice me; he seemed to be meditating in a strange fashion. His eyes were closed and his lids were moving rapidly. I looked down and there was a bright blue fire in the toilet. How did he light a fire in the toilet? Gasoline maybe, but I didn’t smell any. But there was definitely something burning. Something fleshy, like an animal.

I brought the direction of my sight back up toward the waiters’ face. His eyes were open, which made me jump with fright. After a long, uncomfortable, silent moment, he spoke:

“Kirsty, Kirsty, Kirsty. I’m sure your confusion is like an immense burden lying on your chest. Am I right?” He spoke in a “cheesy” manner.

“Uh, yes, sir.” I replied quietly.

“Of course I am.” He laughed. “Please, let me lift it for you.”

He jumped off the toilet and pulled a robe over his marked body.

“Do you know what this is?” He asked pointing at the toilet. I wanted to act stupid and just say “fire,” but apparently it was much more.

“How did you do it?” I decided to answer his question with a question. His reaction: a simple smile.

“Fat.” He said. It was as simple as that. “How do you think you lost so much weight?” He gawked at me like I was stupid.

This made me feel sick. Two hundred pounds of my body fat was burning in that toilet bowl. I felt for scars on my body, thinking maybe the waiter was some sick freak who knew how to use a scalpel, and likes to flush fat women’s blubber down the toilet. I found none.

“How did you do this to me?” I was suddenly amazed.

“Chocolate.” He smiled again.

“I’m sorry? But isn’t that one of the main reasons why I’m this fat disgusting mess?” I implored thoughtfully, and at the same time, I could feel the burden lighten.

“No, no. I’m sorry for my rudeness. I should have been more specific.” More smiles. “What I should have said, is Chocolate Steak.”

I felt stupid. I couldn’t put the pieces together, and I’m sure it was right there in front of me. I ogled at him, stumped.

He smiled once again. “I’m sorry. I perceived you to be a more intelligent woman. You ate the chocolate, you vomited,” he paused for a short moment, “Oh, once again I’m sorry. I forgot I put you unconscious. Let me start over.” He cleared his throat. “After I put you to sleep, your vomit solidified into fat, which is now burning below us. That is the secret of the chocolate.”

More confusion. I pondered for a short while, thinking of more intelligent questions to ask. “So, uh, you make a living, developing some sort of miracle chocolate which in turn helps women like me lose weight?” I paused for a minute. “Quite drastically I might add.” This made me more surprised by how much weight I had actually lost.

The waiter laughed hysterically. “Oh Heavens no!” He waited until he quit laughing to speak again. “I don’t make a living doing this. I’m not suppose to tell anybody what I’m about to tell you. I’m not even suppose to tell you how the chocolate works, but it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” His eyes darted back and forth. “I’m just saying that they might hear me.”

“Who might hear you?” I was quite skeptical at this point. I perceived him now just to be a paranoid, crazy little man.

“It’s not important.” He added, with fear in his voice. “Lets just say I work for a higher power, one they don’t speak of in the media, and hopefully never will.”

He was serious. I wanted to laugh but his solemn tone had stopped me. I also wanted to believe him, but by the time I pushed the laughter down and tried to speak, I heard a different noise somewhere else in the trailer. Kind of like my front door had been shut loudly. I listened for a moment and didn’t hear anything after that. “Did you hear something?” I asked.

“No, I didn’t hear a thing.” He gave me a bewildered look. “Why? Did you hear something?” The waiter bellowed with great concern.

“I guess maybe it wasn’t anything.” I didn’t want to scare him any more than he already was.

“Oh, good.” He spoke silently, as if somebody was listening. He cleared his throat again. “Well, shall we?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s time again.”

“Time again for what?” I demanded.

He didn’t say anything, just a whole lot more grinning. Then, he placed his hand on mine, and moved them to my stomach. Then, he laid his other hand on one side of my still bulky belly, and the one on my hand on the opposing side.

The sickness came again.

I fell to the floor and curled up like a baby. “Oh, please make it stop!” The pain was in my ears, in my head. If he said anything to me, I did not hear him.

I felt the pain pass throughout my body in a disgusting wave. It was familiar; I knew what he was doing to me. At that notion, I vomited. It appeared, tasted, and smelt exactly as if I was lying in my corner by the window.

I couldn’t look at the puke any longer. I moved my vision towards the clock on the bathroom wall. It was three o’clock. I studied it for a short moment, then the waiter moved his hand over my face, exactly like before, and sleep came.

I didn’t wake up on the couch this time, but on the bathroom floor. I was also clean and changed. I looked up and peered at the toilet bowl, there were black burn marks near the water. At least this was all real, I’m glad I wasn’t totally losing my marbles, yet.

The clock read 5:16 P.M. I wasn’t out that long, or it could have been the next day. I couldn’t exactly remember the date.

I stood up and look at myself in the mirror, but it wasn’t me glaring back. I noticed something remarkable before I panicked, and that is that it was me in the mirror. The only thing different is that I lost more weight! It seemed like less this time though. At this point I must have weighed at least two hundred pounds. I stepped on the scale, eager to see my new weight. The electronic scale was old and had electrical problems because of my previous weight problem, so it took a little while to calculate my weight. As soon as the weight showed up, I almost started to cry. 135! I had lost up to sixty-five pounds!

I felt like I was in middle school again. When it was easy to make friends because I didn’t look like that revolting blob that I turned into in high school. The other students wouldn’t have to try to avoid being knocked over as I walked through the halls to get to my classes. I felt great; I even danced a jig.

While singing and dancing, I heard a small noise coming from the living room outside the bathroom door. At first, I didn’t even notice it, I was frenzied, I could even feel my confidence rise. I wanted to hug and kiss the waiter for doing this for me. Then, the newly formed confidence dropped as I heard a painful cry outside the door. I stopped thinking about how I looked and contemplated the sound. I guessed I would never know what it was unless I went to investigate.

I slowly turned the doorknob as the cries became louder. After so much that has happened in the past couple of days, why do I deserve this sort of treatment? Does the chocolate come with horrifying consequences? Whatever it was, I just hoped the waiter stubbed his toe or something.

I pushed the door open fast and wide.

If anyone else saw what I was seeing, they would pray to the Lord Almighty. I couldn’t even think about God. All I could think was how and why? The waiter was leaning against the couch, my television was smashed, and pieces of the glass were piercing into his skin, all over his body. But the most disturbing detail, was that it seemed as if someone or something had twisted his entire torso backwards. I wanted to throw up, but that was a good thing in my little world, I just couldn’t do it.

After many moments of chewing things over, his body twitched. I couldn’t even imagine him still being alive.

“You…have to…leave he-…here.” He gasped in enormous pain. Don’t even ask me how he could possibly be speaking.

“What? Why? What happened to you?” I demanded. He replied with a terrifying look, like it was painful to talk and asking him questions was horribly frustrating.

“Alright, I’m sorry. I will go gather my things and leave as soon as I can.” I said quickly, and began running towards my bedroom. Which was amazingly easier with lighter legs, I might add.

I took one step, and the waiter screamed.

“No! Don’t…go…in…the-.” He didn’t finish. I turned to look; his head rolled down and lay on his chest, hitting on of the glass shards.
That waiter was dead, and I had no idea how it happened. I decided to leave, his orders seemed wise under a great influence of pain.

I approached the door to my room, and it was closed. I never shut the door to my room. I never sleep in there and I rarely go in there, but I do know that I always keep it open.

I opened the door. It was very dark and muggy in the room, and it smelled of something burning, something familiar. In addition, there were noises; they were like a distant drum beat, like the drums I’ve seen and heard on the Discovery Channel. I didn’t know what to think of them, but my body was strangely attracted to them. My feet started to move, I stopped to detain them, and they halted. But it wasn’t over. My belly began to move. It was like an unknown force was pinching my belly and pulling it at the same time, but it was painless. I could see it happening to me in the dim light, pulling and pulling.

I tried to think about what the waiter had tried to tell me right before he died. “Don’t go in the?” Suddenly it hit me. He put himself through a world full of pain to try and tell me not to go in the room. I should have listened. There was something in that room that wasn’t to be consorted with. But it was too late. I had to know. I had to see. I guess curiosity and me are a deadly combination.

After a few moments of consideration, I flipped the light switch.

The light flickered, like when a light bulb burns out. But during that split second of light, I saw someone in the room. An old man, standing near the foot of the bed, with a grin on his face from ear to ear. I panicked and immediately thought to take to my heels and get the hell out of there. I couldn’t stand the thought of a strange old man smiling at me in the darkness. As I turned to run, he spoke:

“Don’t be afraid of me, Kirsty. Please.” He spoke with a deep, raspy voice.

“Who are you?” Was the first question that came to my mind.

“No need to ask Kirsty. Think back when you were speaking with my friend, or ‘The Waiter,’ I should say, in the bathroom.” As he spoke, I could hear foot fall on the cheap carpet, like he was coming closer.

I thought about our conversation. And I thought, and thought. This took me quite some time. Then, I remembered the paranoid on the poor waiter’s face.

“You’re his higher power, am I right?” I asked, afraid of being wrong.

“Correct.” The man announced. “My name is Michael Coen. You see, when I was instructing our friend The Waiter for the last job he would ever need, I told him many times a day that, under no circumstances, shall he speak of me, or the consequences will be insufferable. He broke the rules; his life ended quicker than you think, if that makes you feel any better. Oh, and for your personal thoughts, his name was Edward Statley. I know you had felt something for that half-wit son of a bitch.”

“You’ll never get away with this!” I screamed, trying to be dramatic.

“Oh, you know nothing damnable woman!” He snarled. “When that rotting cretin in the other room said higher power, he meant higher power.” I could actually feel his frustration seeping from the darkness, deeming him a very powerful man.

I took a step back.

“What do you mean? Who are you really?” I demanded answers.

“Well, now that you know I exist, I suppose you should know.” For a bit, I heard nothing, then I could hear him whispering something softly. I then realized what he was trying to do. Mr. Coen wasn’t trying to tell me, but would rather show me.

My bedroom was submerged in a far deeper darkness then it was before. I looked around, trying to find something materialistic, in my milieu. Then, I saw a bit of color to the far right of me. It became larger as I stared and watched it become whatever it was becoming. A room was being painted around me. Boarded walls were building their way up to a very pale, white ceiling. Desks and chairs appeared around me. I also started to notice magnifying glasses, microscopes, and other scientific equipment of the like. The equipment seemed outdated. There were objects I’ve never seen before either, like knives, which looked similar to the ones Jack the Ripper used in his hey-day.

I was standing in what seemed to be a sort of laboratory. This wasn’t a modern lab though; I must have been standing somewhere in the 1750’s. There was a young man standing in front of me, pondering through a very large book. The look on his face looked as though he was very interested in what he was reading and bothering him would probably annoy him.

“Here I am in my younger days, taking after the work of my honorable father.” A voice cut in. Coen must have been speaking to me as I envisioned his past, telling the story. “My father had died under the influence of his work. He was killed for it, in other words. After that, I knew what I had to do.”

“Why was he killed?” I asked.

Right after I spoke, the scene changed.
“We’re getting to that.” Mr. Coen told me.
Colors fading, objects disappearing, others were reappearing. I wasn’t in the lab anymore, now I was in some sort of slaughterhouse. Young Coen was here again, gutting an innocent cow. I watched him strip off large portions of meat out of the animals abdomen. This was definitely an unpleasant site to witness.

“My father’s work was to try and change the world, by ridding it from all of the hefty and overweight people. Not by killing them, but by feeding them.” Coen said. If I didn’t know how the chocolate steak worked, I would have been very confused at this point. “My father died before he finished. Before he was taken away to be hung, he gave me that powerful book, and told me to finish it. I was only sixteen when he died. I finished his work when I was twenty, I developed his special steak, and I showed the world.”

The room and I moved again. This time I watched Young Coen examining a large group of obese patients devour his steak.

“These are my test subjects.” He explained, as the story went on.

I watched them vomit. I saw their blank, confused eyes. Is this how I looked? I tried not to think about the feeling, it was awful.

“The flavor wasn’t chocolate back then, it actually tasted like beef. But over the years people started going on diets, and not eating meat, so I altered the flavor to something that most fat people can’t resist. Chocolate.”

As I listened to Mr. Coen, I witnessed one of the test subjects get up from his revolting pool of vomit and take a swing at Young Coen, which took him down.

“You see Kirsty, the people of my time were not as open minded about this sort of thing, as opposed to you. My test subjects notified the officials of my ghastly acts, and I was thrown in jail, accused of witchcraft.”

I watched the police burst in to the examining room. They grabbed hold of Coen and hauled him away.

“But how could it be witchcraft?” I pondered, actually surprised that I could even speak.

“I guessed they were right, there were some magical rituals during the mechanics of making my fathers astonishing recipe. That was how it worked. The book my father gave me explained how to put magic into meat, if that makes sense at all. It’s actually far more complicated. How else is it possible to lose weight by eating chocolate steak?” I heard him laugh, not answering my question.

“I guess I just never thought about it.” I said.

I was now seeing an executioner wrap a noose around Coen’s neck, and the stool being kicked out from under his feet.

“I’m sure you know that witchcraft wasn’t acceptable in those days. Yep, I was hung, and I went straight to Hell for it.” Coen said quite proudly.

Then there was darkness again; I couldn’t even see my own hand in front of my face.

“This is all I saw of hell,” Mr. Coen’s voice bellowed in the darkness. “I suppose that’s all there is of it, but I cannot be too sure. The only thing I remember was somebody striking a deal with me. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman, but they asked me if I wanted to continue with my work. Well, of course I said yes. The only consequence was that I could only work under the Dark One’s name, not my father’s. Which irritated me quite a bit, but I got use to it, I now have a new father.” Mr. Coen continued. “Anyway, I agreed to the terms, and the next thing I knew, I was back on earth. It was hard for a while. When I returned to earth, it was the year 1986, I had a few troubles adjusting to the New World. One good thing was that the technology had advanced greatly so it was easier to manufacture the steak. I moved on, and continued to make fat people skinny.

I emerged from the darkness back into my own bedroom, with a fully functioning light bulb. Mr. Coen was standing in front of me, but he wasn’t smiling anymore, he was frowning.

“I want to get personal with you Kirsty. Lately I’ve become impatient, I don’t think I can do this anymore, it will take an eternity. I just want to die and sleep forever.” He stuttered for a moment, then stopped.

“What do you mean? You’ve done a great deal of good for me. One thing though, why does the devil want you to work for him if you are doing people a world of goodness.” The Dark One scenario confused me.

“Let’s just say He has his ways.” As he spoke, he began to fade. It reminded me of when I was shifting through his past. His flesh meshed with his eyeballs, his legs curled inwards. The colors of his clothes began to blend in with the wallpaper. Before I had time to say anything else, he was gone, into oblivion.

I felt a wave of relief, like it was all over. It was the kind of feeling you get when you sit through an entire movie that is about as interesting as my life story, then, when it’s all over, all you feel is alleviation.

I felt good. I lost some weight, and witnessed some pretty strange things most people would never even imagine, but I was glad it was over.

I stepped into the living room. Edward the Waiter wasn’t lying dead and disfigured on the floor, but the television was still smashed. I was too tired to care. I fell on the couch and laid my head onto the pillow, and sank into a world of dreams.

I awoke later that evening with an agonizing pain in my wrist. I got up and flipped on the light, and there was blood everywhere, spilling from my wrist. I wrapped my other hand around the wound to try and stop the bleeding, but it just kept flowing. I panicked, I was terribly afraid of death. My eyes darted around the room as I thought of what to do, and they landed on a piece of paper lying on the coffee table, which I don’t remember being there before. It was a letter; I picked it up and read:

Dear Kirsty,

I’m sorry for what you must be going through as you read this, but
I think it’s for the best. Remember when I told you I was becoming impatient and that I wanted to quit working? Well, I was serious. There is one thing though; I want my work to live on, possibly until the end of time. For that to happen I need someone to pass it down to, a successor of sorts. I left this note because the last real person I’ve come in contact with was you, what I mean is, you’re my way out.

While reading the note, I became quite dizzy due to the loss of blood. What’s wrong with this guy? Can’t he just leave me alone and let me live the rest of my life peacefully? The note read on:

I want you to be my heir Kirsty. I want you to pass the miracle from fat person to obese person. Do it for me Kirsty, please, you’re my final hope, you’re the one. If you agree the cut in your wrist will heal in a blink of an eye, just say the word.

You have a choice to make Kirsty, choose wisely.

Michael Coen

After reading the letter, I was outraged. How could he do this to me? That selfish bastard! I wished he were there so I could beat the life out of him, or drown him with all this blood pouring from me.

I started to cry. I was too afraid to make a choice at this point. The dizziness was overpowering. I fell to my knees and watched the blood spill from the cut, and hit the carpet. It happened all in slow motion. My body hit the carpet, face first. I watched my life begin to fade away, and there was only one thing I could do about it.

With my face buried into the carpet, I raised one arm high in the air and spoke the words:

“Yes…I’m th-…the one…”


The following comments are for "Chocolate Steak"
by iamevolution

like the story
I really liked the story. Also, you have the coolest screen name I've ever seen.

( Posted by: Seanspacey [Member] On: May 3, 2002 )

Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.