Women with a chronic medical condition that causes uncontrolled inflation.
This wasn't like Alice at all. She always thought things through, always planned for the worst. Her condition had defied her every effort to control it, and after far too many near-debacles and almost-disasters, she'd learned to be constantly vigilant for the first signs of a "gas attack". And when all her forethought and preparation inevitably came to naught, Alice made a point of learning from her mistakes. No longer did she keep her pills in a purse that she might misplace, like the last time, for example. Now she kept them in her pants pocket, where they'd always be within arm's reach.
And in arm's reach they were, in a pocket that, thanks to her ballooning butt, she could no more access than shuck a clam with her bare hands.
Panic always brought out the worst in Alice's brain. At the first gentle flutter of abdominal pressure, she'd fled the crowd and run as deep into the woods as she could before her tightening pants locked her legs, thus guaranteeing that no one would be around to help her, no matter how loudly she might scream. And in her haste she'd once again abandoned her purse, with her phone and radio beacon safely and uselessly inside. Two more mental notes Alice made as she fought in vain to open her fly, the overstressed zipper not even budging.
How could gas, something so light and free, possibly move so slowly? It would eventually reach her mouth and she could belch it out, at great length and with even greater effort -- but first it had to work its way through seemingly every cubic millimeter of her torso, widening her trunk and swelling her belly as it passed. Alice had taken off her bra, remembering how it had pinched her so during her last incident. This meant that her breasts, freed from confinement, had become miniature hot-air balloons, places where rising gas could collect and become trapped. She groaned as their slow but relentless rise made room for ever more gas. One more lesson learned.
Alice gasped as the seat of her pants gave way with a BANG! Her hand flew to her pocket, which was still too tight to get into, but she felt the seam slowly tearing across her crotch, and soon she'd finally be able to take her pills. But they took minutes just to halt the production of new gas in her body, and ridding herself of what was already there was entirely on her. The buoyancy of her chest bent her back so far that most of the gas was settling in her boobs; what had been a torrent of eructations had tapered off into only the occasional gentle puff. Wrapping her arms around her now basketball-sized bosom, Alice tried to rein it in, fighting a losing battle against their inexorable lift.
And her pants chose that moment to give up the ghost, splitting down the middle with no warning. Too late did she yank her arms down to her sides, two hollow THOPs reverberating through the trees as her hands spanked her bare ass, as the torn fabric pooled around her ankles.
Prioritize, Alice made a chagrined mental note to herself. Don't try to treat a symptom if it means abandoning the cure. She squatted down to reach her pills, and was immediately presented with yet another lesson. After busting through countless panties, she had at considerable expense custom-ordered the sturdiest pair she could imagine. And sturdy they were, holding together even when wrapped around enough hips for two women with extra to spare. But squatting put them at their absolute limit, and with most of her body weight negated, Alice simply couldn't force herself down any farther against them. Desperately she tried to shove them down her hips, only managing to get them to the halfway point, but it was enough, and her hands blindly groped at the shreds of denim at her feet.
And then her feet left the ground.
She wasted precious seconds screaming to no one and flailing at nothing. She wasted several more craning her neck to try to see the ground behind her. At the last possible moment, she made two hail-mary backwards grabs, one hand clutching only at bare dirt, but the other miraculously grasped a generous tuft of grass. Alice's knuckles turned white as she held on for dear life, her breasts now hanging pendulously to her navel, her legs dangling over blue sky as the remains of her jeans hung upward from her feet, tufts of ripped denim tickling her backside.
Alice wasted no time reaching for her pocket with her free hand, but the loose, dangly fabric conspired against her efforts, as her gas attack entered a new phase. With her personal gravity inverted, the gas had to retrace its path through her body, so her ability to vent was temporarily suspended -- but her production was as steady as ever. And what did make it to her rear exit found no escape, thanks to two bulbous buttocks cinched by a maddeningly obstinate strip of cloth. Instead it was entrapped in her legs, swelling her thighs, knees, and calves. Alice felt her shoes grow tight around her feet until one simply popped off, briefly kicking her pants out of reach, and slid down through the leg to land near her head; the other soon followed.
She finally got her hand on the envelope just as her handhold gave way. Alice's stomach plummeted, her heart leapt in her throat, and an eternity seemed to pass in four seconds before the world lurched around her. The crotch of her jeans had snagged on a passing branch, and she suddenly found herself right-side up again, her swollen feet snagged in her pants legs the only anchors she had left. Her underwear chose this moment to give way with a thunderous CRACK echoing through the distance, a wasted sacrifice as the gas was once again marching to her mouth. Alice had mere moments until her last ties to the earth failed her, but at last her salvation was at hand.
Opening the envelope, she saw that the pressure of her growing ass had crushed the pills into powder, but they should still be potent. She shook the packet into her mouth, but something, static cling or moisture or just the sheer cussedness of the universe conspiring against her, held the powder stuck to the plastic. In desperation, she stuck the packet into her mouth, intending to lick the medicine out --
Alice would always wonder how such a huge belch could come unbidden, when she normally had to move heaven and earth to summon them even when her condition was at its worst. The cause was an academic point, at any rate, since the effect was that the packet and its precious powder were launched from her hand to land somewhere off in the distance. "NOOOOOOO!" she screamed, but this last miscalculation had sealed her fate. With the gas departing her lower extremities, her feet shrank down until they slipped free, and Alice's body was borne swiftly upward, her wails going unheard as she vanished into the sky.
This was a learning experience, she reflected to herself, as she emerged glistening and shivering from the cloud bank. Alice had made one bad decision, one wasted effort, one self-sabotage after another. Any one of the choices she'd made, if she'd chosen differently, could have kept her grounded. But she'd let panic rule her, and in her panic had squandered every chance she had.
Alice let loose a thunderous eructation into the chasm of cleavage dangling in front of her. The pressure in her body briefly abated, only to slowly mount again as her relentless condition continued to inflate her. She spent every waking moment of the past... however many days... trying to pass out as much gas as she could, but the best she could manage was to stay below the stratosphere. And she could burp for a solid month, but she still had these mini-weather balloons stuck to her chest, and that gas wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
But still she burped, and still she hoped. She'd get back down eventually, right? This attack couldn't last forever, could it? And even if it did, someone would look in her lost purse and see the note inside, wouldn't they? And even without her beacon, the weather bureau could extrapolate where the currents had taken her and send a rescue mission. All she had to do was wait for that, and in the meantime, all she had to do with herself was replay that day in her mind, going over everything she did wrong and everything she'd do right next time.
Alice had learned all the lessons she needed to keep herself grounded, if only she got the chance.
Not now, goddamnit! Please, just five more minutes!
Of course, Janet had learned by now that there was no negotiating with the Monthly Curse. It happened when it happened, heedless of how it upended her life, and nothing on this Earth would push it back for even a second. But this was her first time leading the weekly sales review meeting, and she'd really been hoping to make a good impression with the board. She'd even managed to get it rescheduled to first thing in the morning, just to buy herself a few more hours by putting the meeting as early in the "danger zone" as she could. But just as she was starting to wrap up, the all-too-familiar pressure in her abdomen let her know that her plans were for naught. There was no way she'd be able to finish before the signs would be visible to all, so she just excused herself as discreetly as she could manage and made her way outside to get herself under control.
The back exit was all the way at the far end of the cubicle farm, and Janet had to walk slowly to not draw attention to herself. By now, her lips and cheeks would be swelling up, and anyone who looked wouldn't have trouble guessing what was going on. Alas, just about everyone she passed glanced up at her. The guys mostly looked confused at first, then had the good grace to turn back to their business when they realized the state Janet was in. Some of the women gave her sympathetic looks, but others radiated scorn and contempt. Like I'm imitating a pufferfish just to be a drama queen. Girls could be so awful when they thought they had an advantage over you. Finally she made it to the door and slipped outside with what remained of her dignity.
And much to her chagrin, she still wasn't alone. Her back was to Janet, but judging by her ponytail, and the fact that she was wearing jeans at a company that didn't have casual Fridays, this must be one of the college interns. She could probably handle dealing with her condition in front of a colleague, but to have her defective body on display for a girl no older than her niece?! But then she saw that those jeans were clinging tighter to her generous curves than the raciest leather pants, and how the tautness of her shirt threw into sharp relief the deep grooves her bra was digging into her back. And when Intern swiveled around in surprise, Janet's heart softened as she regarded a face as swollen as her own -- this girl had a Curse of her own to deal with.
But she wasn't dealing with it very well, judging by the rookie mistakes on display. Janet was fortunate enough to have most of the month as a safe zone, but on danger days she stuck with yoga pants, pleated skirts, and other expansion-friendly fabrics. Her burgeoning breasts were comfortably contained in an oversized sports bra, not constricted in some underwired push-up torture device. And as Intern struggled against her denim-swaddled legs to pivot around, Janet saw that she'd managed to get her thumbs caught between her waistband and her swelling belly. Even as a teenager, I knew better than to entrap myself like that! Her expression must have given her thoughts away, because the girl's face betrayed a mixture of embarrassment and desperation, like she wanted to simultaneously run for help and hide under a rock, if her body would only let her move to do the former or fit under the latter. Intern's lips were too swollen to speak, but her expression said everything Janet needed to know.
I've got my own situation to worry about. It's her own fault if she's stuck on the spot until she bursts out of her clothes. Ending up naked as a jaybird and round as a beach ball will teach her a lesson that she needs to learn, for her own sake. It all made perfect, logical sense in her head. And yet... in Intern's eyes, Janet saw the same fear and confusion she'd felt, when her Curse made its surprise debut during high school gym class. They could've helped me... but they just pointed and laughed as I bobbed in the pool like a discarded inflatable toy. So heedless of her own worsening condition, she stepped forward to help this girl with hers.
The first thing to do was to stop her from suffocating under her own bosom. Her shirt had already burst most of its buttons, revealing an expensive-looking black lace bra. Intern must have blown an entire paycheck on it, and loved how sexy and confident it made her feel. Well, consider this a lesson learned about wearing nice things without a quick-release cord. The girl flinched and tried to pull away as Janet retrieved a penknife from her purse, to the older woman's annoyance. I'm not going to pop you, you little twit. Finally she settled down, and after some brief sawing, Intern's chest burst free, the relief in her eyes mingling with a brief pang of loss.
Now to get you out of those pants... God, that sounds like something you'd hear from one of your frat boy classmates. It was too dangerous to use the knife that close to her skin, so Janet was reduced to slowly working down the zipper of her fly. She soon discovered that Intern's bra was part of a matching set, and knew that the other half was about to join its sister in Unmentionable Heaven. Sure enough, once free of the constricting denim, the girl let out a muffled squeal of alarm as her billowing hips and ass swiftly tore the delicate fabric to shreds.
And then it was Janet's turn to give a muffled squeal -- of surprise, as the unfortunate being in front of her started to rise into the air! Who would've thought she was a floater?! Janet had some "skyward tendencies" of her own, and sometimes she had to be careful about high winds or running up stairs, but she'd always been able to keep her feet on the ground. Even so, the weights discreetly sewn into the hem of her skirt were a constant source of reassurance. She caught Intern around the waist, nearly being pulled off her feet herself as she fought the girl's momentum. With her ear pressed to her bloated abdomen, Janet could hear the gentle gurgling of gas being generated, which, by the sound of things, wasn't even slowing down.
This is getting out of hand... to hell with her modesty, I've got to get her inside before I lose my grip on her. But so caught up was Janet in managing her comrade's condition that she'd been neglecting her own. Dress code for employees at her level was business formal, no exceptions, and Janet's skirt suit had discreet stretch panels deployed to strategic locations to accommodate her body's demands. But they were stretching to their limit, and stitches were starting to pop in her blouse. And of more pressing concern, her pencil skirt was hobbling her thickening thighs, slowing her down as she shuffled towards the door. Intern's tumescent curves were growing firmer and less yielding, her skin slicking with sweat, and she shifted upwards in Janet's grasp, putting them on more intimate terms than she ever wanted to be with a coworker. Janet redoubled her grip on her slippery charge as she sidled the last few inches towards the door.
And she was a mere inch from the handle when her feet left the pavement.
No... no, NO! But no amount of denial would change the fact that what little weight she had left could no longer counter Intern's burgeoning buoyancy. Janet had known this would happen someday, but nothing had prepared her for the sight of the ground receding beneath her. Or her blouse and bra finally giving up the ghost. Or floating up past the IT support department and giving a room full of neckbeards an eyeful of their bare, ballooned bodies. One of them grabbed for his phone, and Janet gave thanks for the small mercy that the little creep fumbled it and missed his chance to take the picture of a lifetime.
Janet's Curse was on a cycle, and in a few minutes she'd start passing out her gas, slowly enough to make a soft landing. But... I'm barely holding onto her as it is. If our weight difference gets any bigger, she'll slip away into the sky. I don't know if she's a self-deflator... and I can't even ask! Even in such dire straits, she cringed at the thought of performing the Counterspell on a complete stranger. We'll never be able to look each other in the eye again. We'll have to move to different states, or different hemispheres if that's at all possible. But Janet knew she'd never forgive herself if she sacrificed this girl to preserve her own sensibilities. Keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, she placed her finger on Intern's... lower abdomen, and being very careful to keep it off of things it didn't belong on, started tracing slow, deliberate, clockwise circles, just like her mother had taught her all those years ago...
The immense blast of gas that ensued took both of them by surprise. Janet held on for dear life as the explosive burst of thrust sent them sailing through the parking lot, across the highway, and over the shopping mall, their simultaneous screams muffled under turgid cheeks. It took what felt like a solid minute for her heart to stop beating out of her chest. Good lord, the pressure she must have been under! She would've popped for sure if I hadn't intervened. It looks like we're heading towards... good, the park. If we can just set down among those trees, we'll at least have a bit of privacy while we finish deflating. We just need to drop a little faster to not overshoot.
Janet pulled Intern's head down to her waist, and when she made no immediate reaction, grabbed her hand and slapped it against her abdomen. Come on, didn't your mother teach you about your body? Or sex ed class? I've been busting my ass to save yours, it's time to woman up and pull your own weight! You couldn't give yourself the Counterspell any more than you could tickle yourself -- your brain would anticipate the sensation and negate it. Finally the girl seemed to get the idea and hesitantly traced a circle...
...but counterclockwise! How could anyone possibly be so STUPID?! Janet swatted her hand away, but the damage was done: her insides burbled and gurgled like a pot of chili left to boil as her rear exit spasmed shut. In a panic, Intern grabbed at the hem of her skirt -- and that was all the excuse the overstressed fabric needed to bust open, her tormentor and her last substantial item of clothing slipping away.
She couldn't crane her neck far enough to see, but she heard the rustle and crack of branches far below her. She landed in a tree -- maybe a little scratched and bruised, but she'll be fine. I just hope I come down somewhere in the park and not in someone's yard. But the minutes passed, and she continued to drift out of the park, over the river, further and further, until she started wondering if she'd even be landing in the same county. And then Janet's blood ran cold as she felt the gentle but unmistakable sensation of a downdraft on her shoulders.
She wasn't coming down at all.
I need to let go of my anger. She didn't ask to bear the Curse, and she certainly didn't ask for my help. It was my choice to get involved, to try to anchor her when I needed anchoring myself, and I was a fool to put my body in the hands of a callow college student who couldn't even undress herself properly. At least she's safely down, and able to alert the authorities. There should be drones searching the skies for me right now.
And they'd better find her. That Counter-Counterspell had almost been the end of her -- one more quarter-circle, and they'd be finding bits of Janet scattered over three states. As it was, her escape valve was an angry balloon knot that only admitted just barely enough gas to keep her from exploding. She's spent the entire day desperately spinning her finger on drum-tight skin, hoping against medical science that her body would relent out of sheer weariness if nothing else. The last light of dusk was fading, and at this point Janet was resigned to spending the night in the air, drifting wherever the wind took her. God only knows where I'll be in the morning. Still, I don't regret at least trying to do the right thing by her. We all owe it to each other to help our sisters in their times of need. She'd probably be having a panic attack right now. I'm a big girl, I can take it. She'll be that much the wiser in the future, and might have the chance to help another Cursed woman in due time. These inflationary episodes always have a time limit -- no matter what, I'll get back down eventually.
And when I do, she is FIRED.
Why did it have to be me?
Nathan had asked himself that question many, many times, over the past year, and he'd never had an answer for himself. The signs had started when he was a freshman, when his body hair started falling out, bit by bit, until he was completely bare and smooth below the eyelashes. His toned physique faded to soft curves, his clothes started fitting oddly, his underwear kept bunching up if he walked faster than a bare mince. Then came the big swim meet -- swimming was pretty much the only thing Nathan was good at, and this was his time to shine in front of the whole town. But struggle as he might, the water seemed to reject him, his arms and legs found no purchase, and he finished nearly a length behind the leader. Distraught over the loss, he slept in the next morning, got up, stood in front of his full-length mirror, and beheld a nascent Michelin Man. By noon, he'd worked out what was happening to his body. I've got the Curse. Me. A guy. With the Curse. Five sisters, and it had to pick me.
He didn't dare tell anyone, not even his parents. There's no point, anyway. Even for girls there's no cure for the Curse, and I'm the first male to bear it, so what could anyone possibly do for me? That's what he told himself, at least, but deep down he knew the real reason. I'm a fluke, a freak of nature. If anyone finds out about my condition, they'll ship me to a laboratory, present me before doctors and scientists, float me in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. And after all that exposure and humiliation, I'll be right back where I started, a human balloon inflating at the whim of an uncaring universe. No one can ever know.
Senior year was a nightmare of close calls, excuses, and social isolation. Nathan desperately tried to find a way to deflate himself, to no avail. No matter how he squeezed, how he squished, how he pleaded, how many pills he popped, the gas just wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. As the months passed, his shape shifted -- from a sort of low-grade general puffiness at first, he now boasted swollen pecs, a literal bubble butt, and a belly to rival the fake ones they made the girls wear for sex ed. And as his body grew, that... lift... likewise grew stronger every day.
He hadn't gone airborne yet. The lead fishing weights concealed in his shoe soles had made sure of that. But Kansas was flat. Flat meant windy. Wind meant air resistance. And the baggy sweats he wore to conceal his curvy figure weren't exactly aerodynamic. Walking to school and back could be a simple stroll or a Sisyphean struggle. More than once he'd spent his afternoon in the school library, no bigger than a two-car garage, browsing farming manuals and a 30-year-old encyclopedia as he waited for the winds to favor his voyage home.
Thank God today was the last day. This school district is too cheap to hold a graduation ceremony -- they just mail you your diploma. The wind was unusually calm, but Nathan took no chances. He'd worked out a way home that took him largely through dry river beds, providing concealment from curious eyes as well as cover from the currents. It ended at what he imagined might be the only hill in Kansas. A relic of the time this land was a farm, it was a huge pile of leftover topsoil grown grassy over the decades. Cresting the summit, he trudged down towards his home below, careful not to descend faster than gravity could follow him.
Suddenly a gust of wind came sweeping towards him. Nathan was rocked back on his heels, pinwheeling his arms as he fought to right himself. And then the wind blew his sweatshirt up to his armpits, exposing his bloated belly to all the world. They might be looking at me RIGHT NOW!!! In a panic, he yanked the hem back down to his waist --
*FWOOOOMP*
Nathan's mind was a jumble of thoughts tripping over each other in their struggle to be heard. I just turned my shirt into a parachute surfaced momentarily, then was lost in the throng. I'm sliding back on my heels made a brief appearance before being trampled underfoot. The wind is pushing me back up the hill. Back up. Back. UP. And then he was back up to the top of the hill. And the sensation of grass dragging under his heels gave way to... nothing.
He knew this was going to happen one day. He'd done everything he could to steel his nerves for the eventuality. And now that it was actually happening, all his practice, his mental preparation, went right out the window and sailed away on a summer breeze. Nathan's mind and body were numb, frozen, paralyzed. It could have been seconds, minutes... days... that he drifted through the air. And then something hard slammed into his calves, and he tumbled back ass over teakettle to a sudden stop.
Nathan clutched at the surface as he waited for his heart to stop pounding out of his chest. His mother's embrace had never felt as warm or comforting as those scratchy roof tiles. Gingerly he got to his feet and surveyed the area. To his relief, he found himself atop old man Gunderson's home, only a quarter mile away from his own. From the sounds of ratcheting, hammering, and cursing, he was apparently working on that old Studebaker he kept in the garage. He could wrench that thing for a hundred years and never get it to run. If he sees me come down off of his house, he'll have questions that I'll be hard-pressed to answer. I'll climb up and jump down the other side. Slowly, trying not to make a sound, Nathan tiptoed to the apex of the roof.
The swaying of trees and grass approaching gave him only an instant's warning. When the wind hit the roof, it shunted upward and hit Nathan with full force from below. With another *FWOOOOMP* his shirt again imitated a parachute, and he stifled a scream as he was plucked from his perch and launched a hundred feet in the air. Firmly in the grip of the currents, he began to drift backwards, everything he knew receding away into the distance.
Nathan would have kicked himself if he didn't know he'd just bounce off. If only I'd gotten down the the ground when I could have! But there was nothing to be done now -- he was helpless before the elements, and nothing he could possibly do would make the slightest difference to his current predicament. His only option was to wait for the situation to play itself out. He at least gave thanks that he wasn't quite buoyant; gravity was on his side, and regardless of where the wind took him, he'd eventually get back down to the ground.
But as the minutes passed, the ground didn't seem to be getting any closer -- if anything, he seemed to be rising. After puzzling things over, Nathan figured out what was going on. His weighted feet were acting as pendulums, swinging him back and forth in midair. When he tilted forwards, the force of the wind against him pushed him upwards, like the blade of a windmill. But when he tilted back, the air filled his sweatshirt like a windsock, and he rose for an entirely different reason. Realizing this, he grasped the hem, trying to seal it off, but in vain: the breeze crept in through the tiniest hole. There was nothing for it -- the shirt had to come off, so his swaying cycles would balance out, and gravity could take over. He was planning to stash it under one arm and put it back on once he was securely grounded. But as he pulled his right arm out of the sleeve, yet another gust of wind slammed into him. Nathan gasped as he was twisted around, and then he cursed as the shirt was pulled off his wrist and sent flying over the horizon.
Oh, this is just great! Whoever I run into when I get down is gonna see a lot more of me than either of us would've wanted! At least I'm facing forwards now. Better to see where I'm going than where I've been. But Nathan soon noticed that he wasn't swaying anymore. His upper half was now smooth and aerodynamic, so his baggy pants were catching all the wind, and he was sloped back. And back meant the wind was pushing him continuously upward. Nathan groaned as the realization hit him -- he'd just made his situation worse in every way.
For (what he guessed was) an hour, he floated with the current, gaining altitude by the minute, until one last desperate idea hit him. A gamble, for sure, but things clearly weren't going to work out for Nathan unless he took action. Carefully he pulled off his sweatpants, his knuckles clenched white. He didn't want to lose his last substantial article of clothing (his hips having long since spread wider than his briefs could accommodate), but more importantly, he couldn't afford to lose any more ballast. Tucking them under his chin, he tied off one leg at the ankle. Then he grasped the hem, said a mental prayer to the wind gods, and held his invention out in front of him.
*FWOOOOMP* As he anticipated, the air filled his pants like a windsock. But with one leg shut, the force was unbalanced. And that leg was the top one, so the effect was to tilt the whole thing downwards, and the net force of the wind was down. Finally, the wind's on my side! All I have to do is hold on, and I'll be be on the ground in no time! But the force wasn't only vertical -- it was horizontal as well, and Nathan found himself picking up speed at an alarming rate. There was no speedometer on his person, of course, but a car passed under him as he followed a country road, and it didn't seem to be going much faster than him. And then he gulped as he passed the car. I can't worry about things like that right now. I need to focus on what's in front of me. I'm headed towards the ground. I'm headed towards a house.
I'm... headed towards a weather vane!
Durable cotton snagged on jagged metal. His conveyance was wrenched from his grasp as he was sent into a flat spin, weighted feet against flailing arms. Leaves and branches slapped against his skin, then were snatched away before he could even think to grasp at them. A grain silo loomed ahead, and Nathan had the wind knocked out of him as he bounced off. But the impact had checked his momentum, and he drifted gently back to the building, until it was in his grasp, choking back sobs of relief as he felt the metal sliding beneath his belly and hands.
Sliding... downwards...
Nathan's blood ran cold as comprehension dawned on him. His Curse would be denied no longer -- the buoyancy of his gas was more than his body could balance, and gravity was now his enemy. Desperately he pawed for purchase as he rose. At last his fingers found a seam in the metal, and for a moment his ascent was checked. But he soon tipped back, his rounded rear end rising above his shoulders until he slipped away. And then that fickle wind returned to claim him, carrying him off until he wasn't even a dot against the bright blue sky.
He knew it was a waste of effort. He'd tried it every day for the past three months, in the shower before school. But it wasn't like there were any other demands on his time right now. With all his might he pressed his hands down into his abdomen. His pecs -- screw it, my BREASTS -- swelled up into turgid orbs, threatening to engulf his chin. His butt ballooned, his thighs squeezing together and curling up from the pneumatic force within. When his arms started to go numb, he finally relented, and with a short, sharp hiss, his body instantly returned to the exact same dimensions as when he started.
So that's it, then. All my struggles, all my schemes, all those weights in my shoes, and in the end I'm as helpless as a child's discarded helium balloon. No way to deflate, no way to gain weight, no way to ride the wind. God, I just wish I wasn't rising so SLOWLY. It's almost sundown and I'm still only, what, 500 feet up? At this rate it'll take me forever to reach the upper atmosphere and freeze to death. Maybe I could take off my shoes, but... what if they land on someone? All that lead would leave quite a bump.
Geez, I must be halfway to Colorado by now. It's funny, I've never been on a plane, or even left town. I know dad was going to surprise me with a crop duster ride as a graduation gift. I'd been trying to think of an excuse not to go. Maybe say I was afraid of heights, except of course I've never been up high, so how would I know? And now I know I'm not, and I'm not a good liar--
A siren sounded below, barely audible over the wind whipping about him. Like every Kansan, Nathan recognized a tornado alarm when he heard one. His parents had drilled the procedure into him since he was six: find your sisters, get in the shelter, secure the door, don't stop for ANYTHING -- if the Crown Jewels are on the kitchen table, leave them! But of course he had no power or agency anymore, and the wind would do with him what it willed. All he could do was brace himself as he was pulled inexorably into the twister.
It was like nothing he'd ever experienced, and nothing he'd want to experience again. Winds like battering rams pounded his body as debris tore at his skin. His shoes and socks were ripped from his feet as he flipped end over end. The air was sucked from his lungs, and everything went black.
When he finally came to, Nathan wasn't entirely certain he wasn't dead. His eyes, ears, and mouth were caked with dust and grime, and he felt like he'd been dragged backwards through a thresher. Gingerly prodding himself for broken bones, he found one piece of good news: his body was finally back to normal. All that debris must have punctured me -- at least now I know how to deflate. I should invest in a good, sharp awl. He seemed to be lying on some sort of cobblestone path. As his senses returned, Nathan realized he was stark naked, and someone could come by at any minute. But when he rubbed the dirt from his eyes, he saw that he wasn't lying on stones after all, but bricks.
Yellow bricks.