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Like a Hummingbird

Author's note. This is another story for my writing group. For our July meeting, we're having a writing exercise that involves writing a story that

is no more than 1000 words

uses one of the songs "Here Comes the Sun," "Ring of FIre," or "Hot Blooded" as an inspiration

uses the words fervid, sultry, and inferno.

I chose "Hot Blooded," by Foreigner for my song. This story clocks in at exactly 1000 words, but it'd be better if I found more places to cut.

The actual inspiration for the story wasn't the song, though. It was the random fact about hummingbirds that's mentioned in the text and referenced in the title. I'd name the story Hot Blooded, except that's against the rules (so we can tell the stories apart when we talk about them). Maybe "Hummingbird Hungry" would be a better title?

I think the ending could use more punch, so I'd appreciate help.

Comments welcome. Our meeting isn't until July 12, so I've got lots of time for revisions.

Here's a link to the challenge and to the song.

https://osfw.online/shorts-in-july/

Like a Hummingbird

by
Max Griffin

Frank stripped down to his underwear, exhaled, and stepped on his bathroom scale. The damned thing topped out at three hundred pounds. Just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.

His heart sank and his stomach growled. What was the point of being hungry all the time if he couldn't lose weight?

He had to lose weight. His doctor said so. "Your heart can't take this," she'd said, in that annoying, schoolmarm voice of hers. "Show some will power."

Right. Will power. That's the ticket. Blame him and his heart condition. It’s not like he could exercise, but he hadn't eaten more than a thousand calories a day in months.

The furnace kicked in and a gust of air sent chills prickling down his body. Damned furnace still wasn't working, either. He snatched up his clothes, dressed, and stormed into the kitchen to check the thermostat. It was set at eighty, just like always. And, just like friggin' always, he was cold. Every dumbass repairman that checked it told him it was working fine. That didn't stop them from sending a bill. It was just an excuse for not fixing his busted system.

The refrigerator beckoned and his stomach pled with him to go there. He firmed his mouth and returned to the bedroom where he jerked on a sweater. That was some better, even though the sweater made him look like a humongous stuffed toy.

While his computer fired up, he sat at his desk and munched on his first rice cake of the day. Thirty-five calories. He could have three more of the nasty things today.

As usual, his emails consisted of nothing but spam. He started clicking delete, but stopped at the sixth email. The subject line read, "Cold all the time? Can't lose weight? Hot Blooded Is the Answer."

It was like they'd read his mind. He opened the email, and it spewed the usual hype. His life would change, it said, if he'd only watch the embedded video. Surely a waste of time, but he didn't have anything better to do. He clicked on it.

The guy in the video had sultry, movie-star looks, a bod like he spent ten hours a day in the gym, and doubtless only consumed protein shakes. Except he was probably like Frank's brother. That jerk never worked out, gorged on whatever he felt like, and ate like ten thousand calories a day. Fifteen thousand. And he still looked like the guy in the video.

Life wasn't fair.

Video-guy droned on about metabolism and calories. It was kind of interesting, though. Turns out hummingbirds have the fastest metabolism and highest body temperature of all animals. That made the little shits so hungry they slurped twice their weight in nectar every day. A human with the same metabolism would get to eat eighty-thousand calories a day. Just like Frank's brother. Muscle-guy claimed hummingbirds proved that speeding up your metabolism was the answer to staying warm and losing weight without diet or exercise.

After what felt like hours of fervid hype, he got to the sales pitch: all you had to do was buy Hot Blooded, their special formula. In mere days, your metabolism would accelerate. You'd be warm, could eat all you wanted, and lose weight. All for just $149.99 for a one-month supply. But wait! Because he'd watched the video, they'd give him a one-month's supply at the special low price of just $49.99.

Frank frowned. That thing about hummingbirds sounded scientific, and $49.99 wasn't all that much. It was worth trying. He clicked through the screens, entered his credit card, and ordered a month's supply.

Three days later, two bright-red bottles arrived. The words HOT BLOODED on their labels looked like they were on fire. The directions said take four a day. The capsules were ginormous, but Frank managed to choke one down.

Nothing happened at first. On the night of the seventh day, he swallowed a horse-sized capsule and decided if nothing happened tomorrow, he'd stop.

The next morning, he woke in a sweat. The room was friggin' hot. Suffocating. Could it be the furnace had fixed itself? He lowered the setting to seventy and headed to the shower. The searing water made him jump, and he turned it down. That never happened before.

Maybe the horse capsules were working after all. God knows, he was hungry. Not like usual hungry, either. Hummingbird hungry. He couldn't think about anything but eating. He snarfed down ten rice cakes, then another ten. Still hungry. He frowned and thought about hummingbirds. Maybe he could eat a doughnut. He hadn't had one of those in years. He headed to the Krispy Kreme down the street.

A dozen doughnuts later, he was still hungry. Better, but the craving still nagged at him.

Over the next week, Frank started eating like his brother. It didn't seem to matter. The pounds melted off like magic. His furnace was still busted, though. Now he was running the air conditioner full tilt and the place was still an inferno. He was mad all the time, too. Hot blooded. None of that mattered. He was losing weight at last. In the shower, he started singing Like a Hummingbird to the tune of the Madonna song.

Three weeks later, at his doctor's appointment, her scales showed his weight had dropped to 220. His skin hung in folds.

She peered at him over half-frame eyeglasses. "Frank, I'm worried about you." There was that schoolmarm voice again. "Your temperature is 103. With a fever like that and your cardio history, there's a risk of heart failure. You could die right here."

Frank's face heated and he shouted at her, "I thought you'd be happy I lost weight." Rage burned through his body, setting him aflame. When sudden agony knifed through his chest and he couldn't breathe, he realized she was right. He was about to die.

He didn't care. At least he'd finally lost weight.

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