A few years ago, I decided that I might need to lose a few pounds.
It was the little things, really; lack of energy, clothes that didn’t fit anymore, excessive perspiration, the fact that I hadn’t seen my penis since 1973. I thought that joining Weight Watchers would be the most sensible way of going about this, that I could lose weight in a steady, controlled manner, in a friendly environment, surrounded by like-minded people who would support and encourage me throughout the entire process.
But how wrong I was.
It started innocently enough. In fact, it was quite satisfying at first. I was proud of myself. But that was before I went “beyond thin” and passed into the realm of darkness.
Sharon, the leader of the group, was very warm and welcoming, and keen to tell me the story of how she had gone from morbidly obese to “Weight-Watcher extraordinaire”. Unfortunately, she neglected to tell me that this particular group had been set up by Sauron, Dark Lord of Mordor, while he was suffering from some self-image problems. She’d also forgotten to mention that my fellow Weight Watchers—Amy, Cheryl, Beverly, Lesley, Elaine, Diane, and Barry—had already succumbed to his power, and were completely bound to the power of the One Ring.
They’d lost some weight too, of course, which was good, but this was hardly a fair trade-off.
When I found out this small piece of information, everything became clear. I’d often wondered why they all wore black cloaks and refused to show their faces. I’d also wondered why Barry had stopped showing up to meetings on his black horse (as they all did, every single week) and had instead started riding a hideous flying beast. It turned out that he’d reached his target weight, and Sharon had presented him with the horrific winged demon as a gift.
At first, however, I was none the wiser, but as I started to shed the pounds, the full horror of my situation become painfully clear. I started to hiss, and writhe, and chase after any small, hairy, hobbit-like people that I might see in the middle of the street. I also decided that I quite liked the “faceless creature in a hooded cloak” look and purchased myself a shroud that was as black as the blackest night (as well as being 25% off at Foot Locker). In addition to this, I traded in my Prius for a massive black steed that could strike fear into the hearts of mortal men, which resulted in many innocent people dying of fear as soon as they set eyes upon it.
I called her “Buttercup”.
As I became thinner, the darkness overcame me. Even though I was receiving multiple Facebook “likes” for my “before and after” pictures, the praise was like ashes in my mouth. What did I care for social media? I was in hell, and no amount of Sharon’s low-calorie chocolate cupcakes with avocado frosting could make me feel any better. She was always there to support us, of course, to tell us that we all had to make sacrifices in order to lose weight, and that if those sacrifices included selling our souls to the physical embodiment of all evil, then we should just grit our teeth and get on with it.
“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels,” she would say, “Except perhaps the sweet taste of freedom from the horrific darkness which accompanies my every waking moment”.
I also found out that Sharon had briefly dated Sauron, and as no amount of contraception was strong enough to deal with his demonic seed, had soon become pregnant. Sharon never spoke about the child, whose name was “Jennifer” (even thought it was a boy), but the word on the Weight Watchers grapevine was that Jennifer had certainly followed in his father’s footsteps.
Even though he was only five years old, Sharon had been forced to remove little Jennifer from several schools, due to his biological urge to commit dark and evil deeds. At his first school, he’d eaten the soul of another child. At his second school, he’d had the entire faculty brutally murdered by an army of mutated orcs. And at his third school, he’d completely refused to do his homework. For Sharon, it was just one big disappointment after another.
I find it hard to believe that I’m typing these words, with my gnarled, bony, fleshless fingers. Christ, I was so much happier when I was fat. People even used to call me “jolly”. But look at me now. I never would have thought that watching a few calories would result in me wandering the earth for eons as one of the nine dark riders. But I am now one of the Nazgul, forever bound to the power of Lord Sauron and the One Ring.
But hey, at least I’ve lost seven and a half pounds!
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David Elliott is a freelance writer, born in Liverpool in 1981. After discovering that exposure to real life was bringing him out in a rash, he started to apply the soothing cream of fiction, silly fiction, seven times a day, both internally and externally. This led to a worrying addiction, and another rash, for which he is now seeking help. His life is an open book (although not a very good one), and his work has been published by a wide variety of people, places, and things. You can find him desperately trying to make contact with other human beings at @DavidEllioops.