It was just too tempting! All those chocolates and sweets just waiting there on shelves, begging to be taken home and eaten. And the Chip Shop! The smell of hot chips soaked in tangy vinegar and dusted with salt had been just too much. He had to have some.
He felt guilty with the first mouthful. Of course he did. The Doctor's words rang once again in his ears in between chewing.
"Mr Foster, you are morbidly obese. You'll die if you don't lose weight. Why don't you try walking? That's a low impact, but effective, form of exercise."
Well, he was walking now, and it was giving him quite an appetite. Just as well he'd bought the chips, he needed the extra energy.
He decided to walk home through the park. That should keep his Doctor happy and at least he could justify the bag of crisps and large bar of chocolate he had waiting for him at home. He would have earned them. You had to have a motivator - his was food.
He scanned the park for a bin to put his empty cone into. There was one next to a bench where an old woman was sat, so he headed towards it, wheezing heavily.
The park was full of people running around with dogs or chasing after balls or each other. It was too hot for that! It can't be healthy, running in the heat like that. He'd pace himself.
His jeans chaffed his thighs as he walked towards the bin. It seemed to take a long time. He didn't think the bin was that far away when he first spotted it.
The old woman watched him, every step. He felt her piercing eyes bore into him and he felt embarrassed. Suddenly, he felt he couldn't walk in a straight line. He was clumsy, un-gainly, like a toddler taking its first steps.
By the time he reached the bin and threw his empty cone away, he felt he'd run a marathon. Even though the old woman was still staring at him, he had to sit down. His new trainers he'd just bought that morning had done well to keep up with him. He wished he'd brought that pedometer now the Doctor gave him. How many steps had he done today? Probably thousands!
He deserved a rest, and a treat. Somewhere in his pocket he had a chocolate bar. He needed to re-fuel. It's dangerous for your blood sugar levels to drop, he'd read about that somewhere.
The chocolate had melted, and most of it was stuck to the wrapper. He licked the crinkling wrapper with relish, leaving a smear of chocolate behind on the tip of his nose.
The woman was still watching him intently. Her eyes didn't seem to belong to her face. They were too blue, too bright, too piercing, whereas the rest of her looked like a sweet old lady - anybody's Grandma.
"Hi." Said Ernest. "Want some?" he asked, holding out the sticky wrapped chocolate.
"No thank you, I've eaten." The voice didn't seem to belong to her. Her lips didn't seem to keep up with what her voice box was saying. They were out of synch. Ernest put it down to the heat. He was obviously dehydrated. A large bottle of Coke when he got home would sort that out.
"What are you doing here, Ernest?" she asked.
Ernest couldn't remember telling her his name and he didn't recognise her either. He assumed she must have known his dear sweet Mother- God rest her soul.
"Doctor's orders," he said. "I have to walk to keep fit. Do you like my trainers? I bought them today." He lifted up his foot. "Can't be an athlete without having the right equipment. I'd have bought a track suit too, but err..they didn't have my size," he looked away, embarrassed.
She smiled, an oddly cruel smile. "Oh, I'm sure you'll walk the weight off."
"I wish I could!"
"I'm sure your wish will come true Ernest. One foot in front of the other and keep going. Walk that weight off and say 'hello' once again to your feet. Don't forget to thank them when you see them again. They've carried you from your first footsteps and they'll continue to carry you till your last."
"I can see my feet...when I'm sitting down I can. Who says thanks to their...ah...um...I've got to go. I think the rest has done me some good. I feel like I've got energy to walk home now! Bye, nice meeting you."
A couple walked past the bench at this moment and frowned at Ernest. No one else was there.
Ernest tried to walk home, but his feet wouldn't let him. They walked on, left foot, right foot, mile after mile. He tried throwing himself on his knees to stop his feet walking any further, but his feet gave him an attack of pins and needles he couldn't bear. Red-hot needles piercing every sensitive nerve. The only way to stop it was to keep on walking.
It went dark. He walked through the night, following his feet. Towns came and went. Dawns, sun-sets, blazing sunshine, rain, hail, falling leaves, snow- all passed him in a blur.
He didn't know how long he'd been walking at this point. He didn't even recognise his own reflection. He'd grown a long beard and his hair was long and unkempt too. He caught quick glimpses of himself as he passed shop windows, knowing there was chocolate behind those doors, beyond his reach.
On he walked, holding up his trousers as he went. They were so slack now, he was half the size he had been. He could once again see his feet. His toes hung out of his now torn trainers, socks all had disappeared. He wondered if his skin on his soles had grown over the socks and become a part of him.
Still he walked on.
'I wish I could walk the weight off,' that's what he'd said. The weight had come off, but his feet showed no signs of stopping. He knew he'd walked the length of the country and back again and was now on his return trip. No one spoke to him. No one noticed him.
He often thought of his fridge full of food at home, going mouldy. But, now even the thought of food made him feel violently ill. He seemed to 'eat' the sunshine and 'drink' the rain, just like plants do. Nature provided him with everything he needed. He had no need of food now. He had no need of speech either. He hadn't spoken a word since he saw the old woman. It had been so long, speech seemed like a long forgotten memory, like a vivid dream that fades the moment you open your eyes, leaving only a 'feeling'.
But one frosty November morning, his feet stopped. He toppled into a dirty ditch because he had forgotten how to balance when standing still.
He thanked his feet for bringing him to his grave. He understood now. Your feet were far more important than your stomach. They took you places. They gave you freedom. He was too big for his feet to carry, so he'd lost his right to freedom. His feet had taken control and shown him who he really was. First steps to last steps - a whole life time.
They found him in the ditch, a skeleton, covered by leather-like skin. A prehistoric man with a modern man's dental work.
