The Last Supper

Angela’s doctor had noted on her chart at her last check-up, “Abnormally thin.” Her fingers, as slender as Twizzlers. Her sallow skin so tautly wrapped around her skeletal structure, you could see each one of her bones protruding. Apathetic brown eyes, sunken into her face like a fallen soufflé. Her hair, as brittle and thin as uncooked Spaghetti Noodles.

It’s been three days since she’s consumed anything more than a single piece of celery, four honey-roasted almonds, and two glasses of water (a combined total of 29 calories), which she’s allotted for herself. Oddly, she’s never felt so satisfied. Her next goal weight has finally been achieved. Eighty-nine pounds. Angela always rewards herself with a small indulgence when reaching a new milestone. Usually, something like allowing herself to eat a few extra blueberries. Now that she has finally dropped below ninety pounds, she’s choosing to celebrate larger than ever.

Angela picks up the phone and dials a pizzeria. Orders a large pizza with extra cheese, sausage, pepperoni, and bacon, five garlic knots, twelve mild buffalo wings, two cannolis, and two liters of Pepsi. (A combined total of 6,160 calories).

She turns towards her computer screen and waves to the heavyset woman on the other end of the video call that she’s on. It’s Emma. A middle-aged woman with a pudgy face and rolls of dough that ooze out of every crevice of her being like a can of freshly opened croissant rolls. She tells Emma “The food should arrive to you in about 30 minutes.”

Angela and Emma have had quite a special relationship for the past few months. They met late one night when Angela was having the most intense cravings she’s ever had for a Big Mac and a large fry from McDonald’s (a combined total of 1,060 calories). The yearning feeling for the crispy, sodium-covered fries landing on her tongue and the calorie-infused burger dancing with her taste buds was beginning to feel like the withdrawals of a heroin addict who’s been sober for three days.

She couldn’t indulge, though. Thinking of the punishment she would inflict on herself if she allowed herself to cave into these sick games her mind was playing.

Angela frequently confided in her friend Sophie, whom she met on a Pro-Ana internet forum a few years back and gradually grew close to. They considered themselves to be “Ana Sisters”. Pro-Ana stands for Pro-Anorexia. You can find a plethora of these websites, which are “safe” spaces for primarily young women to promote Anorexia Nervosa as a lifestyle. They provide support and encouragement when working towards your goal weights, no matter how small. You will commonly find: tips for starving yourself, how to’s on achieving a thigh gap, shared “thinspiration” (photos of extremely underweight girls), competitions on who can go without food the longest, body checks(sending each other nude photos to check progress), a religion which involved the worshipping of a made-up goddess named “Ana” who was seen as beautiful and would make all of the girls thin. You couldn’t mention the use of tape worms though, that was considered crossing the line.

While venting endlessly about the torturing need of this McDonald’s meal and that her usual coping methods weren’t working this time around, Sophie brought up the idea of going on a feederism website.

While Angela had heard of that term before and knew about this fetish, she wasn’t completely sure what it fully entailed or how it worked.

“Listen, it’s not for everyone, but you could give it a try if you think it would help you. Personally, it triggers the fuck out of me to see people shoving food down their throats like that. Disgusting.” Sophie said.

“I’ll try anything at this point. Send me the website.” Angela replied with angst.

Angela paced frantically around her kitchen, perspiration sliding down her cold, jutting spine. Before clicking the link to the website, she needed cautious preparation. She grabbed whatever minimal food she did have lying around the house and made sure it went right into the trash. She couldn’t afford the risk of being triggered into a relapse.

Angela’s first time on the feederism website was awkward and slightly provoking. Scrolling through a herd of unfamiliar faces touting her worst nightmare. Double chins and obesity littered all over the screen. Seeing the weights of these people listed made her insides quiver with repulsion. Her frail hands trembling with apprehension, she closed her eyes and clicked one of the profiles at random - the username being “BurgerQueen23”. She tapped her spindly fingers across the keyboard as fast as her body would physically allow, sending the request of what she wanted to watch them eat, and that she’d pay whatever they wanted.

Angela felt confused about how her body reacted the first time she watched Emma scarf down the food. Her heart was pounding against her flat chest, alongside a throbbing in her vagina that spread throughout her body like a disease.

She found herself feeling turned on by the two things that disgusted her the most - being fat and eating food. It was the feeling of control, though, that she enjoyed. The control of telling someone else what to do, to have them eat for her. She could vicariously live through these moments, watching someone else relish in the calorie-injected food that she so desperately craved but without having to carry the consequences that came with it. Whenever Emma took a bite of the food, Angela would demand that she describe the taste and textures in grand detail.

Since that night, it became a weekly routine for Angela and Emma to have their dinner dates. Their relationship began to blossom further than the aspects of bonding about food, finding them frequently expressing the issues they had going on in their lives.

Emma just left an abusive relationship, who was also one of her feedees, and was struggling to cope with the overbearing emotions she was feeling. He would constantly berate her about not being heavy enough and that she wasn’t gaining as quickly as he wanted her to, but the truth was that Emma was getting larger by the second. She gained ninety-eight pounds just in the first two months of being with him. He started to get more into death feederism and that just wasn’t something Emma found herself compatible with.

Angela began to slowly open up about her struggle with anorexia. It stems back to when she was a little girl. She began starving herself at the age of twelve. Her mom, Janice, was a diet freak. Dipping her toes in everything from Weight Watchers, deficits, fasting, keto, Atkins, paleo, and sugar-free. She would snarkily look up and down at Angela, scanning her body, projecting insecurities onto her image.

“You should really slow down on the chips you’ve been eating, hunny. You’ll end up fat like your mother, and your future husband will leave you just like your father did to me!” A line that would residually haunt Angela’s mind anytime she picked up something to eat.

Angela’s bloodshot eyes were glued to the scene in front of her. Glossy grease dripped down Emma’s chin, harmonizing with the salted sweat that was trickling down Angela’s forehead. Lost in the observation of every detail within the food that was around. Gaining pleasure hearing from Emma what it all tasted like. Fantasizing about her mouth being Emma’s and what it would be like to be able to indulge in the luxurious Italian cuisine.

Neither of them knew that this would be their last supper together.

Sophie hadn’t heard from Angela for a whole week and became increasingly worried with every text and call that went unanswered. Walking into Angela’s apartment to check on her, Sophie’s nasal passages were met with the stench of what she can only describe as rotting meat and sour milk. She found Angela slumped over, decaying in the computer chair—her withered body being devoured by a sea of ravenous maggots.

She had passed away from severe malnutrition. Her body had finally given up on her.

An exchange of messages between Angela and Emma was still left up on the computer screen:

Emma heard about the news and couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling that she could have been a culprit in Angela’s death.

The guilt was eating away at her, so she decided to eat away the guilt. Emma consumed a combined total of 50,000 calories that day.

Her stomach had ruptured (Gastric Perforation). Particles of food and acid spilled into her abdomen, causing Peritonitis and infection, which then led to Sepis.

This caused Emma to die only three days after Angela’s departure from Earth.

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A little note about this story - I’ve had this idea hiding away in a journal for a year, and it took me months to finish it. While I loved the concept, I wasn’t confident in how I had written it. I don’t think I would have finished or shared this story if it weren’t for a friend of mine I have met on here - Levi Polzin. I had sent him this story, and the feedback he provided me was invaluable. This story wouldn’t be anywhere near what it is now without the wise words of Levi, and for that, I have to say thank you again! Please check out his Substack here.