Chapter Four- Five Alarm Nights

Five Alarm Nights- A poem by Tifa Marie Lockheart

Praise the sprites,
I still fit in the tights
on the five alarm nights,
when the bell in my head
rattles the dead
and plans ahead.

Here at the pantry,
spread open wide,
the five alarm night
quickly gives way
to a six alarm fright.
The mind says bluntly,
'Throw caution to wind.
Who cares about image?
Who cares about bills?

Cloud's not here:
ten alarm life.'

_______________________________

2/14/08

Dear Diary,

Cloud actually remembered Valentine's Day. I really like his gift, and it shows, because i'm wearing it around my left eye as I write this. It's purple, just like I wanted. Cloud took off somewhere, and he won't be back for a while.

I am adamant about this. I will fit myself into my old fighting outfit from the days of adventures past. I open the closet and pull the outfit from its final resting place on the hanger. The white shirt is a bit tight now, and it could almost pass as a bra. I try to put on the skirt, but it just doesn't fit quite right. Forcefully, I tugged the skirt down to the level it should be. (God, if the paparazzi saw me now, they'd say that I was pregnant! If only it were that...)

The person in the mirror actually looks pretty good. She's getting slightly chubby, but there's no real difference yet from the average woman, unless you knew what I looked like a few months ago. Yes, the mirror does agree: Tifa Lockheart can still pull the fighter look off fairly well!....

....And then the button flies off. The skirt hits the ground, revealing my panties. I never liked that skirt anyway.

Oh well. Next up, that old pair of jeans I used to wear when I was younger. I slide the jeans on, but they seem to be a tiny bit stuck. Furiously, I tug and pull at the jeans. It doesn't work. I hop up and down, and roll on the floor until I can finally get the pants to waist level. I know that the button on this pair is very resilient, so that shouldn't be too much of a problem.

But now I can't get them to zip up. The lips of the zipper do not touch, as they are forced apart by newly expanded flesh. Okay, so i'm going to have to suck my tummy in. I can handle that. I feel like i'm holding my breath, but they're on. It's not a perfect fit, but I think i'll walk around the house in them.

I get to the kitchen, when I notice that Cloud must have accidentally knocked a cup in the floor before he left. I bend down to pick it up, and...

...RRRRRIIIIIPPPPP!!!!

They're totally shredded. I'm not talking about a little peephole that acts as a gateway to the undies. I mean, it ripped so big, you could almost see my whole butt! So, it goes without saying that those are headed for the dumpster.

But there's got to be something more. After that session of popping and ripping all of my favorite outfits, why do I feel like going deeper?

I do not have the answer to that question. All I know is that the pantry is calling me, and I don't want any restrictions. The air from the ceiling fan flows free across my bare skin. There it is: the holy cabinet, full of candies, breads, meats. You name it, we've got it. So, without any further ado, let the party begin!

I'm so ashamed, but I like it. I start with a carton of ice cream. It didn't stand a chance. Ritz crackers? Devoured. Entire bag of Valentine's candy? Consumed. Two liter of Pepsi? Vanished in the space of an hour.

But this is all old hat, isn't it? Oddly enough, I don't like grease, or really any kind of foods that get your hands dirty. Chocolate Cake, for example. Usually, I pass by the cake and save it for Cloud. Granted, I still don't have a desire to eat it, but i'm sure I can find a use for it. So I smear it, everywhere.

I envision it as if I am a warrior, smearing face paint as a mark of war. I suppose Chocolate Frosting is my 'Binge Paint'.

Of course, nature would have to interfere. In the middle of the feast, I feel a call of nature. I grab a pack of Little Debbie cakes and finish the entire box while sitting on the toilet.

And that's when it hit me...I feel like a damn animal. Just look at me, shoveling down food so maniacally. It's like some kind of kinky animal instinct, and my entire being cries out, 'This isn't human!!!'

Don't get me wrong, Tifa Marie Lockheart does not purge, nor will she ever do so. But apparently, she will talk in the third-person from time to time.

So I retreat back to the kitchen in shame. My belly is so full, I feel like puking my brains out. When I take a look around, I survey the damage. It's pretty severe. The entire pantry is basically cleared out. Cloud is so going to kick my ass.

Wait. There is one thing that I forgot. I realize that it was sitting separate from the pantry, but still, how could I miss the humongous foot-long artisan bread? Gosh, i've never seen a piece of bread that big!

Instantly, the challenge appeals to me. Maybe I can eat one more thing. I grab the loaf, and I instantly feel a sense, not of gluttony, but of something more sensual. I wrap my legs around the long loaf of bread and hold it close to me as I begin to nibble at the top. For one moment, all is right in the world of Tifa Marie Lockheart, until....

....Cloud walks through the door. He surveys the damage, much like I had done. He sees the pantry empty. He sees me hugging a loaf of bread. I'm sure the food is pissing him off really bad, but I can see it in his eyes: his gripe centers around the one phrase: 'He sees me'.

Cloud sees me sitting naked on the kitchen floor. Cloud sees me with my mouth full. Cloud sees me with a tummy that looks like a baby bump. (If only I were that lucky.) Cloud seems me covered in chocolate frosting. Cloud sees me with a spaced out look in my eyes, and a greenish tint to my complexion.

Cloud sees me barf all over his brand new shoes.

_____________________________________

Reality- A poem by Tifa Marie Lockheart

Memory relates that once,
we loved like little children.
Reality relates that now,
I surrender all.

Memory relates that once,
the table was packed full.
Reality relates that now,
economies die cold.

Memory relates that once,
I scarfed down all we had.
Reality relates that now,
there is nothing left.

Memory relates that once,
I felt like i'd explode.
Reality relates that now,
We have to go without.