I feel like doing something a bit different for a while, that just captions on Wednesday, and I’d like to start up another interactive story like I’ve done in the past. I’ve you’ve been a reader for a while you probably remember these: I write a chunk, ask you all for input on what you’d like to see in the next chunk, and I follow your direction until the story reaches some sort of conclusion. I’m going to shoot for two entries a week, probably on Wednesdays and Sundays. I’ll try to have a couple captions during the week, but that largely depends on time/inspiration/how much other shit I have going on at any given moment.
Regardless! Here’s the first chunk! I wrote this a while back, but could never quite decide how to continue it, so I’ll leave it up to you all!
“Bro, why don’t you go get us another round of drinks, eh?” Bishop said, turning to Dale beside him at the table, slapping him on the back as he did.
Dale could feel Bishop’s friends looking at him, see those smirks–his cheeks flushed red, “Uh…sure. What…should I get?”
“A pitcher. George knows what we like.”
“O-Ok.”
Dale hauled himself up out of the chair with a grunt, and he could hear a snicker or two, his cheeks deepening another few shades. He thought about asking Bishop to go get it instead, but he was already up–getting up was the hardest part, always had been. He shuffled off towards the bar, lumbering, feeling so self-conscious of himself. This is why he never came out, this was exactly why. At least at home, watching TV and snacking he didn’t have to have anyone else staring at him, scowling at him for even daring to exist. It wasn’t fair–Bishop had grown up in the same family, eating the same food. It wasn’t Dale’s fault he hated sports, that people had always teased him, that he’d…just wanted to eat, for as long as he could remember. But here he was, trying to will himself through a minefield of tables and chairs which had obviously been arranged by someone much thinner than he was. He kept bumping into people, stammering a sorry, but everyone just glared. He turned back and saw Bishop and his two friend’s laughing–probably at him. People were always laughing at him, especially Bishop. Why the hell had he agreed to come? Why in the hell was he such a sucker for Bishop’s fake brotherly love olive branches all the time?
Finally he got to the bar. George, the bartender and a nearby neighbor who’d known both Bishop and Dale since they were kids, walked over and asked him what he needed. “Bishop asked for a pitcher–he said you’d…know what to pour.”
George shrugged. Dale wasn’t sure at first if that meant he didn’t know, but before Dale could figure out what to say, George had walked over to a tap with a pitcher, filled it up, and then set it down in front of dale. “Ten bucks.”
Dale fished through the pockets of his overalls until he found a wad of bills, handed some to George, and then surveyed the best way back through the mess of tables in the bar to his the table where his brother was…except he wasn’t there. The table was empty, and he looked around, a bit frantic, in time to see Bishop disappear out the door of the bar with his friends, laughing. For a second he thought to chase them, to remind them that they’d forgotten him, and then he realized that ditching him had been the plan. He felt like an idiot. No, he was an idiot. A fat, stupid, idiot loser, and here he was with a fucking pitcher of beer. He didn’t even like beer! He turned around and set the pitcher back down in front of George. “I…they left. Can I get…my money back? I don’t want to drink this.”
“No refunds,” George said, “Sorry kid.”
“I don’t even drink beer though!”
George shrugged, and walked off. What Dale really wanted to do was to scream, but all that would do is draw even more attention to his fucking humiliation. He couldn’t cry either, his eyes wanted to fucking cry, but he balled them up and fought them off, pressing his fists into the bar as hard as he could, hating his body, hating how big he was when all he wanted right that moment was to be as small as possible.
“Well, no reason to let it go to waste, right buddy?”
Dale looked over, and saw an older man, long beard down to his gut smiling over at him from a bar stool. “If you can’t drink it all, I’m happy to keep you company a bit and help you out.” He patted the stool next to him, “Come on, have a sit.” Dale just stared at the tiny surface of the stool, imagining his wide ass perched on that thing for more than a few minutes, and how much his lower back already hurt at the thought. Almost like he was reading his mind, the guy shook his head and got up. “Nevermind that actually. Let’s…hmmm…you know, let’s go on the patio. I could use a smoke. Come on.”
Dale just watched the older man go–he didn’t look back. He’d…always hated that. Bishop had always walked like that, when he’d told Dale to follow him. He’d never looked back to see if Dale was actually coming, he’d always just…just assumed Dale would come, and he always had. He always had. But he, fuck, he’d spent his entire life looking back, his entire life looking for the next way everything he’d planned on was going to crumble to pieces, because no one gave two shits about him, about what he wanted. Maybe he’d always wanted to take up so much space, so people would have to notice him, but he was still…invisible. Looking around at who was looking at him, who was pretending not to see him at all. He looked over at the pitcher of beer beside him, picked it up, and walked after him. Why not, right? At least he didn’t have to be in here anymore, either way.
Now the fun part! Here’s some options that you all might like to see:
- The stranger helps Dale discover a more dominant side of himself.
- He takes control of Dale for his own pleasure and humiliates him more.
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Dale trades in some of his fat for muscle.
- Dale becomes lazier, a slob, an alcoholic, and a chronic smoker.
- He decides Dale should become a bit more “mature”.
Fell free to pick a couple options–I’ll probably mix the two or three most popular together. You can reply below with your answer, or send me a message/ask with your preference. I’ll need answers soonish, so I have time to write the next chunk, so it’ll be open for the next day or two. You’re welcome to submit your own alternate ideas as well! If I like it, I might use it.
So then, which of those options do you want to see in the next chunk?
Bracken's Corner 