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[Gluttony ~ an inordinate desire to consume more than that which one requires]

He's fat.

There's really not much else to say about the man.

He is fat, ugly, and he makes me sick to my stomach.

Back in the days we used to like him. See, in the beginning he was the kind of man that you could like. He seemed so nice, and acted like he cared. He really was good at the whole second father thing.

He liked it when we treated him like family.

He didn't care though. When we went away, he found himself a new family, and another one, and another one.

It didn't take me long to find out which capital sin he breaks. One look at him pretty much makes it clear.

But it's not only with eating too much that he sins. He wants too much of everything. In a way one could say he consumes boybands. He makes you, throw you out into the world, and if you happen to go away from him, he simply makes another.

In my head that is breaking the sin just as much as eating is.

And he does eat a lot.

You get sick if you eat in the same room as him.

The way his three or four chins move when he opens his mouth, the way the fat hangs off from his every limb. The man is fat, and doing nothing about it.

He disgusts me everytime he walk into a room, everytime I see him on tv or in magazines. That isn't often, since I do my best to avoid it, but it is not always easy to avoid that man, you know. Heck, it's never easy to avoid them when they're THAT big.

He is the worse of them all, the worst of all those sinners. Which is why he was clearly my man.

He was surprised when I came to see him, even gave me a hug. I acted like I was happy, just paying an old friend a visit.

He didn't suspect a thing, until he felt me running a knife down his spine. He didn't understand, and he tried to fight me. But by then it was already too late. We'd just ate, and the sedatives I'd given him were starting to kick in.

He woke up in pain, his right arm gone. I'd tied up the wound, and burnt it, to make it stop bleeding. I mean, I didn't want him to bleed to death before I got to the fun part.

When he stopped screaming, I started to feed him.

The meat was not the best, but at least I had bothered enough to cook it.

I made him eat it fast, while I was whispering in his ear what it was he was eating. He threw up more than once, but he leanred to control himself, after I made him eat what came back up.

He learned quickly.

After he was done with the meet I had prepered, I decided it was time for him to eat something raw. He screamed when I told him to choose what he wanted to eat next.

But that was nothing like the screaming he did when I cut the meat.

I guess it can be harsh for a man to be told he had to choose which part of his own body he wanted to eat next, but who cares.

He ate his right arm, and both of his legs, before I decided it was time for me to leave.

By then he was dying from the blood loss, and he wasn't screaming any more.

Not a big surprise though, since I made him eat his tongue for dessert.

I took one last look at him, before I walked out of the room.

He was just sitting there, tied to a chair.

A big, fat, blobby thing.

He sins no more.

 

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