Sunlight filtered through the curtains and sprayed the room with its glow. Only the kitchen area and a few odd corners were spared its effect. Aaron squinted as the rays assaulted his face. He liked sunny days as much as the next guy but he sometimes preferred overcast days; they were easier on the eyes.

“Have you decided yet hon?” his mother asked in her usual reserved tone as the sun continued its disregard for his eyes.

“Why don’t ya try the salad? You hafta watch those calories ya know.” His father always reminded him of his weight problem. “You are what you eat,” he added as if to further emphasize his son’s bad habit of eating everything that didn’t move. But despite the fact that they were right didn’t deter Aaron from still resenting their constant prodding. After all, he was only eleven years old. So what if he weighed nearly two hundred pounds, who cares? Surely his age would compensate for his weight and even if it didn’t, he would…oh wow! Look at those desserts. Cheesecake, apple pie, hot fudge sundae. Each had its own tiny voice, beckoning him to stuff it into his mouth. He had to try at least one.

You are what you eat, you are what you eat. The words rung in his head like a broken record.

“I’ll have the salad,” he conceded, noticing his father’s grin.

The waitress, a tall, pencil thin woman whose expression resembled a sheet of drywall, mumbled the orders as she wrote on her notepad. “With the salad you can get the special of the day.”

“What’s the special of the day?” Aaron’s mother asked before he had the time to speak.

The waitress rolled her green eyes. “It’s a club sandwich with cole slaw and dessert.”

“No, just the salad please,” his dad interjected cutting Aaron off before he could reply.

The waitress snickered as she turned and shimmied towards the kitchen. A ridiculously thin man was preparing plates of food at high speed and didn’t even slow down when the waitress addressed him.

Aaron found himself staring at the two employees as they conversed with each other. Occasionally one would shoot a quick glance back at him; it gave him a cold feeling. Any explanation stemming from usual business between a cook and a waitress was swiftly dismissed due to the number of times they looked back at him. It couldn’t take this long to put in an order could it? He strained to hear what they were saying but with his parents chatting away about Aunt Irma’s upcoming divorce and the background noise one would hear in a restaurant it was impossible to hear much of anything.

A small break in his parents conversation did allow him to hear a little bit, a very little bit, of what the two were saying.

Gibberish. Complete gibberish. It sounded like high pitched whining, not unlike a fly’s buzzing on a hot summer day. It hardly seemed human at all, nothing but fevered ramblings in some strange tongue.

Was it his imagination; a bizarre result of too much dieting? He eventually concluded that it must be and shifted his thoughts to the upcoming party at the school that Friday night. He wondered if Belinda would be there. He was trying to lose weight for her hoping that she would like him if he was trimmed down a bit.

“Aaron?” It was his mother. “What do you think of a new diet plan that lets you eat eight smaller meals each day instead of three? Jenny at work read about it and tried it herself. She’s already lost eight pounds! Of course most of what you eat is fruits and vegetables.”

He never could understand why he had a weight problem. His parents were both quite thin, even downright skinny. He had often wondered if he had been switched at birth.

His train of thought was interrupted by the waitress bringing his salad and the drinks. She placed it directly in front of him and smiled a toothy grin. “Enjoy your salad,” she said softly. Aaron looked at the bowl. The green leafy meal with its assortment of croutons and dressing lay in the bowl like a patch of grass in a field.

And then the walls between reality and dreams crumbled. Before his disbelieving eyes the salad shifted! A crouton tumbled down a tiny rift created by the movement of the lettuce. The cube of toasted bread sat in its new location a full two inches from where it had been before. Several jabs from his fork revealed no clue as to the occurrence which he already doubted even happened. He rubbed his eyes but still no change, just an ordinary salad in front of him.

“I’m not very hungry,” he mumbled.

Both of his parents looked at him.

“But honey,” his mom said in an annoyed tone. “You haven’t touched your salad.”

“Come on Aaron,” his father added. “Eat up. Salad is allowed in any diet.”

He had expected those responses; he’d grown used to them over time. Whenever he ate too much or ordered the wrong food he would get the same treatment. But he had no intention of eating any of that salad, whether he imagined it moving or not. The other customers were oblivious to his situation; they simply carried on with their small talk and hand gestures, completely unaware of him being securely fastened to the booth by thick, glossy tendrils resembling wet snakes. His screams apparently did not register to their ears. His head thrashing about failed to catch their attention. His bowl of salad moving around on the table didn’t warrant their time.

His parents noticed though as did the waitress and the cook. All four people, who combined couldn’t have weighed more than four hundred pounds, watched him with empty eyes, eyes not unlike a lion’s eyes, understanding only of its prey.

Aaron was trapped. He looked to his parents, pleading for help but received no reply. The seconds ticked by terribly slowly which made the tendrils feel even more painful. And then his father spoke.

“Aaron, do not fear us. We are here to help you.” The words were said with an unmistakable feeling of malevolence.

“You have a weight problem,” the cook chimed in.

“So!” Aaron spat. “What business is that of yours?” He turned to the couple next to him. “I knew you weren’t my parents.”

His mother leaned in towards him. “It’s true; we’re not your parents. Your real ones were deemed unfit when you were born. Our goal is to reduce your weight mass by fifteen percent.” The cook and waitress looked at each other and started babbling in the same insect-like whining as before.

“We have perfected numerous ways to reduce body mass,” his father added as he motioned towards the creeping leaves, which had previously been Aaron’s lunch. “This is our most effective.”

Aaron’s eyes grew wide as the salad crawled up his chest. It was moving steadily towards his face leaving tiny trails of dressing in its wake. He found it impossible to close his mouth despite using all his strength. The leaves hesitated when they reached his face as if prolonging his terror, like they were feeding on his fear. Then all at once they shot into his mouth with the ferocity of a lion pouncing on a gazelle.

“Don’t worry son, our pets are instructed to only remove twelve point six, four ,three percent of you; in your case that equates to twenty- four point nine, nine pounds.” He leered at Aaron, displaying enormous canines which elongated right before his eyes. “What’s more, you won’t remember a thing. You will feel and look better. Your blood pressure will be lower and you’ll have more energy.”

He seemed sincere which had Aaron weighing his options. Could it really be so bad? The salad, or whatever it was, had already traveled down his throat with hardly any discomfort except for a slight gagging feeling and best of all he would lose weight! Plus, he wouldn’t remember anything, which he thanked God for, and it would be so easy. Belinda would be surprised when he showed up at the dance looking trim and fit.

“Oh, one more thing,” his father said quietly. He was mostly reptilian by then as was his mother and the cook and waitress. He leaned in close to Aaron, his forked tongue flicking across his face. “You’ll have no soul.”