Cupcake: A tale of greed. knew this girl when I was 6 / 7. Used to play tag, hide and seek, etc. I'll call her, Cupcake. Human form, although her ma had her own gravitational pull. Went to the same school till I moved away.  20 years later, I move back to the same area. Cupcake is fucking. Huge. She still stays in the same house and has little obese butterball kids X2. I just ignore her as it's fucking embarrassing talking to fats. My sister isn't quite as blunt though. Sis works with heavily autistic kids on arts projects, spends time doing her best to help them along, etc. All round good, wholesome person. The kids and carers she works with are putting on a bake sale for charity, so, the evening before, she bakes a tub of cakes for the sale. Ideal. She wakes up in the morning, grabs her cakes and heads for the subway. She gets on the train, sits down with the tub on her lap, the doors close and all is well in the world.  Until the doors re-open.  She can hear the laboured breath before anything, like one of those dogs that have been inbred so much that their throats and sinuses are almost closed, breath rasping, sounding like it could keel over and die at any moment. Four greasy sausages wrap themselves around the sill surrounding the train door. No ordinary sausages, wrinkled jumbo hotdogs attached to a poor quality Christmas ham. The body comes into view like a mars flyover, horizon cresting the image.  Then the face. It's fucking, Cupcake.  She spots my sister, recognises her instantly and waddles over to sit next to her, the subway train wobbling slightly under her immense weight. She sits, the doors close, the train leaves the station. She asks my sis how she is, general small talk ensues. Then my sis notices it. Cupcake's eyes dart nervously to the tupperware box, senses keen and honed from years of detecting buttery delectables, they never let her down. She licks her lips and all that's missing from the image is a scantily clad, Carrie Fisher, on a chain. She huffs and shuffles in her too small seat.  "is..." "is that..." "Cakes?" Sis grimaces and explains the bake sale. Cupcake is completely undeterred.  She wipes the spit from the corners of her downturned maw on her chubby wrist.  "Can.. I have one?"  Knowing this moment would come, Sis gingerly opens the lid. Cupcake's, greasy sausage fingers reach out, she seems tentative and sis opens the box a little wider, her humanity getting the better of her.  A cunning ruse.  As soon as the box is open wide enough for, Cupcake, to jam in her oversized hand. She goes for the kill. Her hand closing on no less than four cakes, fingers digging into icing, sponge and individual paper cake tray. She removes her hand and any thought of polite conversation flees the fatty deposits in her soft head. My sister stares in horror as she stuffs her face with cake after cake until only the crumbs deposited on her chest remain. She licks the paper casings greedily, mumbles "this is my stop", stands up precariously and waddles off the train. Sis cannot believe what has just transpired. Still shocked, the train rumbles and enters the station, signalling the end of her arduous journey. She goes to stand and as the train lurches to a stop she loses her balance, promptly sitting back down and extending her hand to balance herself.  Directly into four, very wet, paper casings.