Sarah McMillain looked over the car one more time, certain that she'd find her stone. Hers. She thought of it as hers now. It was hers by right of conquest, and she intended to use it to create a perfect life for herself. Jenny and Randy were only the first scores she'd settle. She had a list of names to work on...
(flash)
Sarah looked about. She'd felt that. A sort of...ripple in the world about her. Sarah looked about, thinking it might have been caused by her brushing her fingers over the stone while she was daydreaming. She pulled out her penlight and focused in the dark cracks of the car seat. Had that been the stone. She reached around and scratched her mighty ass, feeling the slow, steady movement of her ass wobbling and jiggling long after she'd finished. Sarah hated being so fat. What had made her like this again? She was big...huge even, but...she couldn't remember how it had happened. She'd never been a real eater...
(flash)
...well, that was being intellectually dishonest. Actually, she'd always been an eater. An eater? More like a gorger, really. She reached into the huge purse she always carried and pulled out three giant sized Butterfinger candy bars. She tore one open and stuffed it into her mouth as fast as she could, eating like she was starving. Sarah had always been a fiend for selfindulgence, and her body showed it. A great, near globeular mass of blubber and fat, all squeezed into a coustom tailored tie front floral button up and tight jeans that had enough denim to...to...
She looked up. Cocked her head to the side. How the fuck did she get so fat? She could remember syuffing and stuffing herself her whole life...a great, empty hole that NEEDED to be filled...but she also remembered being a cheerleader...popular...fashionable. She could remember that, but in her memories, that cheerleader was also a great, round ball of blubber.
(flash)
She felt that again, and quickly inspected herself. Nothing seemed different. She slipped a cigarette between her lips and flicked her lighter. A deep drag cleared her head, and she let the rich, dark smoke sink deep into her lungs like an inside hug. She'd been smoking since she was 12, and now - at five packs of unfiltered a day - she felt naked without a cigarette poking from the corner of her mouth. The smell...the taste...the wonderful roughness she'd developed in her throat, as her gravelly voice croaked. She broke down into a dismal, rattling, cough which ended with a growling ratchet, followed by a spat wad of yellow phlegm. She smiled. She lit another cigarette with the butt of the first, and slid behind the drivers seat of her car. Someone was wishing, she was sure of that. She drew deep on her cig, crammed another candybar into her gob, and chewed while she smoked, enjoying (as she always did) the sweetness of the chocolete and the burning sour of the smoke. She weazed as she breathed, light-headed from lack of food. She knew that whoever was doing the wishing, it was probably either Jennifer or Randy.
Ransheeta. It would be Ransheeta. She smiled at that...
(flash)
Jus' th' idea of a fat, ol' nigger bitch like Ransheeta thinkin' she could mess wit a country gal like her, made Sarah Sue McMillan snort in laughter. Who did thet coon think she was? Wishin' an' shit again' an honest, hardworkin' white gal like her? Her pure, Anglo-Saxon, Aryan heritage bristled at the thought. She slid (wedged) herself into her big, black pickup truck, so fat that she had to slip her keg-thick right leg over the gearbox to fit, and slide the seat all the way back. She had just enough room to fit her gargantuan 800+ lb mass into the cab, adjusting the rearview mirror as she did. She saw herself...saw the fat, piggy features. The thick jowls, blunt nose, blubbery lips and crooked teeth...speckled with acne, piercings (lots in her nose, ears, brows, lips and such) as well as a few scattered tattoos. Her body was sovered with them, and she wore skimpy clothes to show them off. A black leather halter too, ripped black jeans and big, chain-dangling boots showed her many swastikas, Confederate battle flags, KKK-inspired body art and gruesome Death Metal tatts...she ran a thickly calloused, fat fingered hand (tipped with black, inch-long nails and decorated with enough skull and pentagram rings to double as brass knuckles) through her dyed blond crewcut (though her heavy, black unibrow showed she wasn't a natural) and thought...what th' fuck's goin' on?
She took a deep breath, lit another cigarette, and KNEW in her bones that she was an obese, thuggish, Aryan-Satanist skinhead. A brutal, chain-smoking ogress who listened only to loud, growling music and...
(flash)
Shit! She waz late fer th' gig! She roared off into the night, and pulled up behind a club in a bad part of town. She squeezed herself out, and pulled her bass from the back. One of her bandmates shouted "Th' Pit's really jumpin' tonight, Ogress! You bring yer rage?"
That was her name! How could she have forgotten? Ogress Maxima - basist and backup vocals for NSMB band "Hail Nazi Valkeri" - waddled into the back, her dykeish fellows already on the stage. She lit another cigarette, swigged a pitcher of good, German beer, and they launched into a brutal rendition of "Panzer Goddess", where she raged and beat through her set, growling lyrics in her broken, wounded voice. She played all night, aften eating food that people threw her on stage, and drinking pitcher after pitcher off beer. She could remember no other life than this violent, repulsive decent into the darkest aspects of skinhead subculture. She was Ogress Maxima. Period. After the gig, they got paid, and she drove back to the shitty, slovenly apartment she shared with her bandmates. where they ate each other out, and all her girls went at her with strap-ons. Ogress Maxima could barely imagine any other life...
(flash)
She was home. She was awake. She remembered how she'd spent the night, and she rolled over and vomited into the trashcan beside her bed. Sarah remembered everything, and KNEW it had been true. Knew she'd LOVED it, and knew she WANTED to return to it...but also knew it disgusted her. She looked down, and though she was still fat, she was only a reasonable 350+ instead of the avalanche of blubber she'd been the previous night. She also noticed she was...darker. Not actually black, but definitely mulatto-looking. Pretty, in her own way. She was back home, dressed in a billowy nightie and feeling hungry...but after last night, that wasn't that bad. She waddled to the bathroom, emptied the trashcans' contents and rinsed it out...and wondered what was next. She looked at herself in the mirror, and saw a rotund, half-black chick who could have been her sister. Her hair was no longer blond, but dark and silky. She saw a family portrait, and the old Sarah was gone. In her place was this rotund girl...and sarah knew she was nolonger the daughter of both her parents, but rather the product of a dalience her mother had with a black guy. He must have been a big man, and she'd inherited his genes...
She went downstairs, and her parents didn't react as if anything was wrong. To them, she'd always been a large, rotund, dark-skinned girl. She wanted to cry, but also...she was so glad she was nolonger living that...nightmare existance, that she couldn't complain too much. She felt the need to kiss both her parents, and when back in her room...she found a note pinned to her pillow. She read it...
"I fucked you up, bitch...but you KNOW it can get worse. Stay away from me, and you'll stay like this forever...but you'll be happy, marry a nice black man and have six beautiful babies. Cross me or Jenny again, and I'll make Ogress Maxima seem like a pleasant dream. Ransheeta."
Sarah crumpled the note, and thought about what to do next.
Meanwhile, Kartn was laying in the hospitol, her two babies suckling at her heavy, milk-full breasts. Jon had shown at the hospitol and explained everything to her, and (unaware that she no longer had the stone) they were making plans to steal the stone back from Sarah.
