Why Didn’t He Run?

Why didn’t he run?

His forelegs ached, his jaw ached, but mostly his stomach ached.

Grey pondered his situation as he shovelled meal after meal into his mouth. It had started with a scent, a delicious scent. It had wafted out from a cave the pegasus just happened to pass by on his stroll. That cave proved to be more trouble than it was worth, he should have run.. Something he can no longer do.

He had cautiously entered the cave, following the amazingly tasty smell, hunting for its source. It was dark, but the grey pony could vaguely make out the outline of the cavern. His hooves clacked annoyingly loudly on the hard stone floor, he worried that his intrusion would be given away, yet no one came.

Grey ventured further in, the smell becoming overpowering, his stomach grumbled loudly as it was ready for the meal his nose had been detecting all this while. The cave was getting warm and humid, and as he turned the corner into a room with a simple table on it.

Upon the table, were the greatest array of foodstuffs the horse had ever laid his eyes on. The smell was incredibly strong, the heat of the cave seemingly radiating from the pile of food presented before him. His stomach grumbled again as he took a step forward.

His legs seemed to move on their own as he trotted over to the table. His mouth hung open, eyes transfixed on the meal. Most parts of him screamed this was wrong, this wasn’t his, he shouldn’t take it. His stomach wasn’t listening, demanding he fill it with the delicious smelling food.

Grey apprehensively leant forward and took a cautious bite of a pastry, that had been the last time his mouth had been empty for a while. Pastries, cakes, meats, burgers were all unceremoniously stuffed into his greedy mouth.

The pegasus tried to pull himself away, but every time he looked away the food pile appeared to grow, as did his hunger. The horse whined as his forelegs moved on their own again, forcing pizza, pasta, ribs, sandwiches, ice-cream inside him.

There was no order. Desserts were eaten before starters. Mains were stuffed inside him once they were in reach. The horse groaned, feeling both overstuffed and ravenous. His belly was starting to brush against the comparatively cold stone floor.

Grey wanted to run, he wanted to run away, out of the cave. But his body wasn’t listening. Pounds upon pounds of food are stuffed into his mouth by his rapidly thickening forelegs, as pounds upon pounds of thick, warm pudge was added to his frame.

His hind legs were forced to rest on his gut, threatened to be enveloped by the scroll emblasoned globes he once called his flank. His gut spread out around him, forcing up him up higher as it grew without limit. His face was rounding out, spheres of fat sitting either side of his muzzle, tickling the bottom of his field of vision. Not that it mattered. All Grey could see was the never ending stream of food his absurdly thick forearms were pushing into him.

Grey jolted as a patch of coldness was pressed onto the top of his rump. He quickly realised that that was the ceiling pressing down on him. He whined, desperate to stop his gorging. He was well and truly trapped.

The pony groaned in what little time he had to breath before he was forced another mouth stretchingly large burger by his own body. He truly had never felt as trapped as he did now. A mind, trapped in a body, trapped in tonnes of flab, trapped in a cave.

Why didn’t he run?