You decide to stay on the floor. Although your stomach doesn't hurt, it's difficult to move because of the weight of all the food in your belly. While there, you rub your distended belly. You like the size of it. You like the feeling of the side of it resting on the cold linoleum floor. You like all the food in there. You like the food still on your face. You wipe leftover cheesecake off your face with your thumb and suck it off. For a brief moment you're lost to reality--the only thing that exists is you, your belly, and your ravenous hunger.
You clamber up, wanting there to be more food, but there isn't, and that fact jerks you back to reality. Your legs feel weak under your weight, so you sit down. Although you were quite pleased with the results (at this point, your hand wanders back to your belly and rubs it more), Mike had robbed you of free will. He simply had to face repercussions for that. You look at the cup with the Wishing Powder drink in it. You take a light sip and feel the powder's effects wash over you. "Hey, Mike," you call.
Mike saunters into the kitchen from the living room with a pleased grin on his face. "All done, little bro?" he says smugly.
"Yep, all done," you say with mock subservience.
Mike strides over to you and rubs your belly. "There's still room for more," he said. "I can feel it. I wish--"
You stop listening to Mike and think, 'I wish Mike's wishes wouldn't come true!'
"--that there was more food on the table for (IYNH) to eat."
A moment passes and nothing happens. Mike looks at the table, then back at you then, back at the table. He straightens and repeats himself, this time more firmly. "I wish that there was more food on the table for (IYNH) to eat!"
Still nothing happens.
He looks at you, visibly frustrated. Then he sees the cup in your hand. "You wouldn't."
"I wish Mike had to follow all of my orders without question," you say. Mike's face turns emotionless for a moment and then turns back. He realizes what you did and makes to grab for the cup. "Don't do that," you say. Mike freezes in place, his hand just a few inches from the cup. "Now. Sit." You gesture at the chair next to you and Mike sits in it.
The power of the powder still coursing through your veins, you proclaim, "I wish the table was full of food!" And just like that, a chocolate fountain appears on the table, followed promptly by a giant bowl of potato chips. Shortly after, a plate piled high with five steaks appears and six large pizzas next to it.
As the table continues to fill up, you look at Mike. He meets your gaze. "I hope you don't think this is punishment," he says.
Grinning victoriously, you say with much cruel irony, "I wish Mike's stomach could hold any amount of food or drink that is put into it." You look down at Mike's flabby belly. Seeing it spill over his shorts and rest in his lap and his excitement for the oncoming feast made you a little jealous. You eye the food on the table.
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