Milan took up the ball-point gel ink pen again and scrawled, "I wish this pen's ink would turn green." He stared intently at the letters on the page, still shiny and wet but they remained resolutely blue. He sighed a little, tracing swirls around the words for a few seconds absently. "Maybe I...somehow missed someone putting all that food in the fridge?" He muttered to himself, looking thoughtfully at the half-sized refrigerator.
The pudgy young man worries for a moment about whether a roommate was going to be angry with him upon returning, but then remembers that he has this room to himself. Reassured by this he's about to wheel his chair back over to the fridge and grab some more to eat when he notices that the random scribbles he'd made after writing the wish statement were, rather than a deep blue, they were a rich and almost warm shade of green. "Hey, wow!"
He picked up the pen again and wrote under his previous wish, "So it works..." Then he tapped his pen against the page some more before scrawling. "I wish the ink in the pen was blue again." He paused for a moment, then underlined the sentence. Blue ink trailed once more from the ball-point.
Milan rubbed at his pudgy middle and wondered what to do with this. He could...he could do just about anything with it, and his mind was reeling with the possibilities. He started to think about how much he'd always wanted to get fatter, and not just a little fatter but Enormously fat, Milan had spent years specifically befriending the fattest students in all of his classes hoping that their propensity for portliness would rub off on him. But his own upward chubbing had been slow and dissatisfying to him.
His mind strayed back to his friend the Senior year of High School, Edward had been almost three times his weight then...and Milan had already been over 240 pounds. How someone got to be almost 620 pounds by the time they were 18 was a secret that Milan had wanted to know desperately.
And now he had a way to be that fat, right now if he wanted to. He could even make Ed look emaciated by comparison if that's what he felt like writing.
But should he? How literally did the journal take the wishes? He'd only wished for food the first time and the whole fridge had become packed. Did he need to be specific?
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