Reasonable Response

Inhale. Exhale.

Fia closed her eyes and felt static well in her palms, projecting it in a circle with a small, slow pirouette as if she were dancing underwater. The glyphs she’d etched into the floorboards - normally hidden under her rug - ignited electric blue in her mind’s eye and crackled as the space in-between connected in arcs of violet and cerulean. It had taken three hundred and forty-seven days to perfect and manifest the operation and, seeing it now as clearly as words on paper, her heart trembled.

The sharp knock at the door shattered her concentration, and didn’t provide enough time between recognition and opening. “Fia, fridge is empty agai-ooh, jeez.” Maggie took in the scene in one quick sweep. Her face, like every other part of her, was swollen with excess meat achieved by stuffing herself at every opportunity, and not putting her body through the trials to shed it. Even now, her lips wrapped around - Fia assumed - the last of their bananas, chewing exhibitory as her cheeks puffed with every packed mouthful.

“What have I told you?” Fia snapped, exasperation festering as she slapped her thighs where she knelt. “You can’t barge in here.”

Maggie swallowed. She rolled her tongue between her teeth with a wet suck before nodding. “Fridge is empty,” she repeated, eyes widening, “and if anyone sees what you’ve done to the floor we won’t get our deposit back.”

“I’m in the middle of an operation - one I’ve been working on for months. I’m sure you can haul your fat arse to the shops for once to restock.” The witch crawled over to her bed, reaching out for the open grimoire. “The exercise would do you good.” As soon as she hissed the words, she regretted them. “No, I’m so-”

“What the fuck?” came the avalanche immediately. “How dare you body shame me?”

“Mags, I didn’t…”

“Just because I don’t starve myself like some fucking buddha, you think it's okay to treat me like shit?” Maggie stepped further into the room, her heavy thighs wobbling within her tights and her gut swaying in her shirt. The runes excited at her approach, though neither girl noticed. “I’m studying law. What I do is so much more complicated than anything you could manage, and this magic nonsense is actually pissing me off!”

Fia’s blood thickened. She rose, jabbing her finger towards the fatter woman. “You’re just a fat pig that leeches off of everyone else.”

“Pig??”

Voice rising to a near scream, “Yeah, you’re a pig!”

As Maggie’s fleshy foot passed over the invisible tripwire, a flash of energy misread Fia’s intention. When her eyes adjusted she saw the damage, and her heart dropped. “Shit. Mags, I’m sorry, I-”

A furious squeal filled the chamber, followed up by a few grunts. The pig looked at the world from its new perspective and stamped its trotters indignantly.

“I did say you shouldn’t disturb me,” Fia said regretfully. “I… think I can fix it, just give me some time.” She threw herself on the bed and trawled through the open page, going over the spell again as she checked for the causes and the principles. But she struggled. It was difficult to keep her mind on the task. It wasn’t until her belly growled that she realised it was hunger.

She bit her lip. “I’ll carry on after dinner,” she said sheepishly to the animal, who followed her angrily out to the kitchen. “It’s your fault anyway, if you weren’t so pig-headed… oh, aha… sorry.” A cursory glance in the freezer reminded Fia of their predicament. There was nothing left inside, nor in the cupboards, or anywhere in the flat. She closed the door with a slam, looking at the fat swine sitting on its rump like an overfed dog. Its stomach undoubtedly contained a lot of the treats Fia had been saving for herself.

“Change of plan,” she said through a wicked smile. She flicked on the oven mid-stride. The pig wasn’t sure what to do.

Remarkably, she tasted exactly like pork. It was indistinguishable from regular meat - if a little higher in fat content - and there was so much of it that Fia thought several times she’d end up with wastage. She stripped out of her shirt after about a quarter, undoing the fly of her jeans so her gut could relax a little freer, and washed down mouthful after mouthful with cold beer - the only thing in the apartment Maggie wouldn’t touch.

“Gosh,” she sighed, leaning back in her chair. Covering her lips with the back of her hand, she ejected, “hwuurp… buhhrhp… buhhhrp…” and smacked her tight belly. Fia thought for a moment before getting up. She dropped down to just her underwear as she retrieved what remained of the barbeque sauce. She felt she needed something to slather the hog’s face with before chowing down, and it made the experience so much more palatable.

Because she ate… and ate… and ate… until her middle hurt with the mass inside and bones littered the plate. At one point - she couldn’t remember when or why - she hefted the platter to her bed and stripped totally before getting on all fours and tearing at the meat with just her teeth. Mouthfuls of flesh barely-chewed sank into her animalistic frenzy. She’d belch between bites, thick gushes of air as her body strained to make room in any way it could. Her gastrocolic reflex packed her intestines tight, shunting the digested pig through her bowel to absorb. With her head angled down as it was and her thighs splayed for balance, relieving PhrlLlrphrts squelched from her bottom freely and with ease.

And when it was all finished - when nothing of Maggie remained except a few bits of snapped up, marrow-drained bone that indigestion begged Fia not to eat - a raucous wet “BraAaAauUuuooourrhp!” was her last contribution to the household. The witch laid back in her bed in a stunned stupor, licking her chops and wiping up the sauce that smeared her tits. Breathless and pained, she slipped easily into a food coma disturbed only by the meaty expulsions she guffed out of both ends.

“Fuc-hic-k sake,” she groaned, pinching her new belly fat as she sat there on the toilet, belching and farting like… well; a pig. Her skin was slightly sticky still from her feast, and felt taut with the fresh layer of thick pudge that was packed beneath it. She felt it wobble and she hated it, especially when she ran sheets of toilet paper up between her inflated arsecheeks and felt them push back like twin basketballs.

She looked a mess in the mirror, covered with off-brown juices and a light layer of sweat that she’d need to clean from out her new folds of flesh. “How were you so fattening?” she groaned into the bowl as she flushed again. Maggie’s soft, pulpy remains refused to budge. It stunk. It gave Fia ample time to think. She’d still need to restock the fridge. Now, too, she’d need someone else to help with rent.

Her stomach growled for breakfast, and she stroked it despondently before considering. Maybe she could kill two birds with one stone. Just one more time…