Maurice had always been a man of excess, a man whose body had grown out of its proportions in slow increments, each one barely noticeable to the world around him. A few extra pounds here, a little more indulgence there—at first, he hardly noticed. But as the years passed, something inside him shifted. He grew hungrier, emptier, as if the more he consumed, the more something inside him craved. It wasn't just food. No, it was something far deeper, a gnawing hole that no meal could fill.
He lived in a small, unremarkable house on the edge of town. The neighbors didn't pay much attention to him, except for the occasional comment when they'd see him struggle to walk to his mailbox, a panting, out-of-breath figure huffing in the heat of the afternoon sun. They had no idea that he was slowly becoming a force beyond comprehension, something monstrous, a presence so deep and grotesque it might tear the fabric of reality itself.
Maurice didn't look like much. He wasn't grotesque in the way one might imagine a villain from a dark tale. He didn't have a hideous face or monstrous hands. He was simply... big. Big in a way that suggested he'd never stopped eating since birth.
His belly hung heavily over his pants, his arms sagged beneath their own weight, and his legs, thick with the excess of his appetite, could barely carry him from one end of the house to the other. His skin had stretched to its limits, the soft pale folds that draped over his flesh looking like the curtains of a closed room, hiding something far worse inside.
It was when he reached 500 pounds that the problems started. His house creaked under his weight, the floors groaning as he shuffled from room to room. At first, it was simple things—his clothes no longer fit, the old chair in his kitchen snapped under him when he sat down, and the stairs refused to hold him anymore. But the world around him didn't stop. The world kept moving, and so did he, dragging himself through the days like a slow, deliberate tide.
Maurice tried to ignore the unsettling changes in his body. The stretching, the aching, the dull pain in his joints. But it became harder to turn a blind eye when he began hearing sounds—faint, eerie sounds that filled the corners of his mind.
They weren't voices, not really. They were... something else, like distant rumblings, low and unnatural. He tried to laugh it off, telling himself it was just the house settling, or maybe the wind. But every time the noise came, it felt like something else was shifting, like the earth itself was moving with him.
He started to notice that things around him felt different, too. His home, once comfortable, now felt suffocating. The air seemed to close in on him, thick and heavy. The walls that once held him with a sense of calm now pressed in on him, their once-sturdy foundations seeming to crack and crumble beneath his weight. His fridge was full of food—more than he could ever eat in a lifetime—but the more he ate, the more he craved. Every bite seemed to take him further, until one day he could no longer stop.
By the time he hit 800 pounds, the house itself had begun to break. Cracks appeared in the plaster, and the floor sagged beneath him, threatening to give way completely. But it wasn't just the house that was breaking. It was the world around him, the very air itself, responding to his unchecked expansion.
He felt a strange pressure building inside him, an odd, almost sickening sensation. His stomach, once so round and bloated, began to grow even more, as if it were expanding outward, but not just in size. The pressure pushed deeper, harder, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. And with each pulse, each expansion, the world seemed to shift in response, the ground beneath him trembling like the earth was trying to escape him.
Maurice couldn't stop it. He could hardly breathe anymore. His chest felt tight, as if the very bones of his body were constricting, pressing against his organs. He tried to eat less, but the hunger grew unbearable, relentless. Every attempt to resist was met with pain, as if his body was rejecting him, demanding more. More food. More space. More of everything.
His neighbors, who had once ignored him, began to notice the changes. They saw his massive, bloated figure stagger down the street, his steps slow and unsteady. They felt the tremors in the ground whenever he moved, a low rumble that seemed to come from deep within the earth itself. Some called the authorities, others whispered about him in hushed tones, but no one dared approach.
Maurice's thoughts were chaotic, disjointed, his mind trapped in the hunger that drove him. And as the days stretched into weeks, the more he ate, the more the world around him seemed to bend and break. The streets outside his window cracked open, as if the earth itself was reacting to his insatiable appetite.
At 1,200 pounds, the world was no longer the same. It was as if time itself had begun to unravel. The sky above him, once so clear, had become heavy with a strange darkness. The sun, once warm and bright, had started to fade, its light flickering as if struggling to stay alive. Maurice could feel the air becoming thicker, suffocating him as the pressure inside him grew unbearable.
The world groaned, a low, reverberating sound that came from deep within the earth, growing louder as Maurice's body swelled further. His arms, once flabby, were now massive, rippling with the weight of his unnatural growth. His legs had swollen to the point of bursting, and his face, which had once been human, was now barely recognizable. His skin stretched and split under the strain, deep fissures opening up across his body.
The cracks in his house deepened, the walls threatening to collapse as the ground trembled beneath him. And still, he ate. It wasn't just a need anymore; it was an instinct. His body, once human, had become a grotesque, bloated mass, a singularity that fed upon the world around him.
At 1,500 pounds, the world could no longer sustain him. Maurice was no longer in control. He had become a force of destruction, an insatiable monster whose hunger had consumed not only his body, but the very fabric of reality itself. The earth cracked and split beneath him, the air grew thick with a terrible heat, and the sun—once so bright—was now a distant, sickly glow in the sky.
And then, with a sickening, deafening sound, it happened.
Maurice's body, swollen beyond recognition, imploded inward. It wasn't a collapse; it was a rupture, a tearing apart of everything that had once been solid and whole. The very air itself bent and twisted, as if reality itself was being torn apart by the force of his existence. His bloated form folded in on itself, and from the center of it, something darker, something far worse began to emerge—a black hole.
It was quiet. There was no scream. There was no explosion. There was nothing but the sound of the universe being consumed.
The ground cracked open, the skies split, and the stars themselves began to fade, one by one, as Maurice, the man who had grown too large, too hungry, devoured everything in his path. His world—his house, his neighbors, his life—was gone, swept into the void he had created.
And in the darkness that followed, there was only the silence of a world erased.