Inflated

The light from her phone pulsated as a new notification illuminated her face. She slumped back into her chair, sipping her black coffee. The fruit medley in front of her sat half eaten. The bitter taste of coffee lingered in her mouth. 

Her long nails rapped on the phone’s screen. Glowing in her hands was the photo of a beautiful woman. Long hair flowed effortlessly in a dimly lit hotel ballroom. Champagne towers glittered in the background. The caption underneath emphasized the glamour of the year prior, and a hope for equal opulence today.

Her fingers hovered over the phone, trying not to graze the ostentatious display through her screen. It was all so familiar to her. The way it looked last year as she stood in line waiting to be let in. Her feet aching in stiletto heels, yet still barely tall enough to see past the crowds into the exclusive ballroom. Waiting for hours with no food, no water, until, eventually, the burley bouncer guarding the event muttered his only words to her: “Party's over. Go home.”

The memories of last year’s failures echoed through her apartment. The flutter in her chest told her this year would be different. No thread would be out of place. Her hair would be perfectly coiffed. Every inch of her body was accounted for in what fabric would, or would not, cover it.

Her chair scratched against the floor as she pushed herself away from the table. Her unfinished breakfast sat alone. There were only a few steps between where she ate to where she slept. Still, her worn out legs carried her towards the one place where she felt shielded from reality.

The bed was barely visible in what was supposed to be the bedroom. She had pushed it off to the corner to make room for the racks of clothing that sat against the other walls. In pictures, the sparkling fabrics, smooth leathers, and iridescent colours stood out amongst the average walls. A curated mirage of a dedicated wardrobe.

Her hand ran across the neatly, hanging clothes. Each garment placed precisely to accentuate their charm. The fibers against her skin filled her senses. Soft cashmere. Musty wool. Shimmering silk. The clinical smell of freshly dry cleaned garments. Every sensation quelled the visions of late payment notices and stomach grumbles. A promise of exclusivity hiding the mundane.

There was one small window that illuminated the very center of the room. There, she had placed an ornate floor-length mirror. A silk, chiffon dress floated on a mannequin beside it. The ivory fabric spilled down towards the floor like the current from a waterfall. It was a year’s worth of savings to custom make this dress. Red carpets came into view. The Met Gala materialized. Her magnum opus situated in front brought her closer to those images.

Her phone vibrated. It was always with her. One hand always keeping her connected.

Instinctively she peered into the screen. A nameless face in the photo held up a makeup brush and smiled through the camera lens towards her. Hundreds of comments were already streaming in. Affirmations of glamour. Exclamations of envy. A plethora of anonymous usernames interacting with the digital figure.

In the background of the photo, the most stunning dress sparkled. A crimson sequins bustier that glittered like a thousand coins. A feathered skirt billowing below like the wings of a phoenix. Its lavish demeanor taunting her.

Sweat started to drip from her temples. The mirror reflected her pacing as she came in and out of view. A rush of blood to her head left her dizzy. All her planning became irrelevant in an instant. The thought ran through her head in circles. It consumed every part of her. An endless rush of ideas bubbled in her mind, expanding the space in her head until her forehead was forced to stretch outwards to accommodate the feeling.

She froze. The mirror close by beckoned her. Her hands creeped to her forehead. Her fingers lingered above her face before giving it a light touch. Her temples throbbed and pulsed towards the rest of her body. She tilted her head towards her reflection. Her eyes did not look any farther apart. Her nose was firmly where she remembered it. But the space above her eyebrows looked more spacious than before. Her fingers ran down her hairline to her nose, as if muscle memory could confirm if this was ordinary.

The barely risen sun shone through the only window and cast an unflattering shadow on her face. In the darkness, she could ignore the feeling of a hump forming across her temples.

Her head whipped back to the dress she created. She cupped the fabric, letting the soft threads float between her hands. A burning sensation formed in her throat. Her creation no longer held the prestige she desired. Her swinging arms knocked the mannequin to the ground as she turned to face the rest of her wardrobe.

Ideas began to fill her. Every garment around her was an opportunity. There was something in her wardrobe that could change her situation. Frantic hands began sifting through every hanger. One by one they scratched across the metal bars.

A satin corset that turned heads. 

An iridescent jacket that changed colours as the night aged. 

Crystalized dresses who reflected light onto the crowd as she danced. 

A classy, maroon, sweater caught her eye. Its simplicity contrasted with intricate embroidery patterns covering every inch. She pulled her arms into the sleeves, then her head through the neck hole. It felt tight over her head. The fabric scratched at her eyes and nose as she struggled to push her head through. Then, a snap. The sweater was firmly on her, but broken threads from the embroidery dangled around her neck.

The heat in her body started to rise. She turned to the mirror. Her clammy hands became pressed tight against her ears. Her head ached. Spots formed in her vision as her hands spread farther away from each other. The cranium sandwiched between her palms continued to expand without control. Her eyes started to drift farther apart while her nose stayed stationary. Her mouth became a tiny slit on her growing face.

She backed away from the mirror. Shaking hands struggled to pull the sweater over her body. The wool scraped her inflated head as she fought and forced the garment over herself. She let the sweater drop to the floor, the neckhole now stretched and curled.

Her wardrobe sat at attention. She began evaluating everything in front of her. Every option fired synapses in her brain. The ideas and combinations grew inside. Every space in her head pushed against herself. The pressure pounded endlessly.

Her hands rummaged through the rest of her clothing, quivering as they passed through each garment. 

A feathered jacket was tossed aside. 

A sequins skirt thrown across the room.

Every item was ripped off the hangers and cast to the floor. 

With every glance and turn, her growing head would come into her peripheral vision. A dizziness multiplied as she tried to avoid her own gaze. She could feel her head pull in every direction. Her hair follicles stung. Every thought was expanding her skull, stretching the skin tight around her face and neck.

Her forehead pulsated. She tried to shake her head, but it made her stomach churn.

Her fatigued body pivoted towards the mirror. A caricature stared back. The edges of her head stretched past her shoulders. Her ears looked like little chips next to the large cranium she had inherited. The top of her head extended out of view. Patches of hair adorned her scalp as they struggled to fill her new head. Her whole self unwillingly mesmerized by the reflection in front of her.

Another buzz. Trembling hands picked up the waiting phone.

A woman was posing in a dress covered with white roses. The petals so intricately placed it looked like they were growing out of her. An image filter accentuated every bit of glamour from the moment. Meanwhile, in her bedroom, her clothing was limp and lifeless.

The heft of her head pushed down on her. Another image outmaneuvering her tactics. Her neck had become stiff. Her legs gave out from the unbalanced weight and she fell to her knees. She clawed at all her clothing. Every sweater, shirt, and dress that couldn’t be opened from the front were discarded to the dark corners of the room. The sparkle and shine that came from the clothing deemed lost. Everything rejected for failing to fit her new body. A graveyard of luxury fabrics was hidden in the shadows.

Her eyes scanned the racks. Sequins, stripes, lace, metallic, all flashed in front of her. Eventually, glittering gold caught her eye. A small source of shine glowed underneath the dull castaways.

Her hands and knees scraped against the floor as she crawled towards the sparkling patch. Clothing tumbled onto her as she ripped the garment from where it lay. The gold, sequins dress reflected light on her heavy head. Each dot illuminated parts of her new form.

She pushed her legs through. Her arms carefully slipped into the sleeves. The zipper on the side went up without any resistance.

It took every bit of strength for her to stand. She took a deep breath as she braced herself for what she would see in the mirror. Starting at her feet, she slowly raised her gaze. A sweet smile formed slowly. Her toned legs elevated the hemline. Her slim waist accentuated her glittering hips. But as her head came into view, she soured.

The slow expansion invaded her vision. It was like watching a balloon slowly fill with air. First her forehead pushed forward, then the extra volume spilled to fill out the rest. She could feel the tension build around her ears before it released into the expanded space. Her eyes and nose and mouth stood fixated while the rest of her head grew.

Her hands clutched the dress. Tension formed in her fists. The ripping sound of torn fabric filled the room as hundreds of metallic discs scattered like snow. The rent remnants fell lifelessly to her feet.

The rest of her wardrobe stared back at her. Everything was wrong.

Too short.

Too long.

Too bright.

Too dull.

Too expensive

Too cheap.

Can’t look like you’re trying too hard.

One by one the remaining garments joined the dark corner. Banished to the shadows for being unable to hide her. With every item cast astray, she could feel her skull build with pressure. The weight of all her choices and indecisions pushed against her. All she could feel was the pounding against her mind as it continued to grow.

She closed her eyes and fell to her knees in front of her mirror. Her arms dangled limply beside her. Her shoulders rolled forward. Her posture hunched. The size of her head made it cumbersome to hold her gaze up and look at herself.

Her new reality was reflecting back at her. Her eyes, ears, and mouth looked like raisins on her expanded head. Hairs stuck out in every direction like flailing arms. The extra weight put strain on her neck. In the background, luxurious fabrics were jettisoned as if they meant nothing.

All that was left on her clothing racks was an oversized, hooded, sweatshirt. It was cheap. She kept it buried in the back. With everything else tossed aside, it stood out amongst her rejected wardrobe. Her body twisted towards the garment; feet incapable of maintaining balance. She grasped at the fabric, her grip failing as it tumbled off the hanger. It wrapped around her like an old blanket. The cheap cotton felt rough.

The clouds outside covered any remaining rays of sunlight trying to sneak in. With darkness engulfing her, everything turned shades of grey and brown. The textures of her garments began to meld together, rubbing like sand against her skin. Colours faded in a mountain of muddy shadows.

She rested her head against a wall, allowing its weight to sink into her neck and shoulders. The heaviness tightened her chest. Her breaths were short and shallow. She pressed her hands against her temple, but nothing could stop the throbbing pressure in her head. The skin on her face felt tight and thin. Her vision was obscured by the palpitations radiating through her. It took all her energy to even keep her head up.

A slight glow was coming from where she sat. Underneath the silk, chiffon dress she had made for today, she grabbed for the phone. She stretched the hood over her massive head, and began to scroll. Hundreds of photos of glamourous women streamed by her fingers. Their hair shining in the daylight. Clothing sparkling through photo filters. All of their faces, smiling back at her. While she rested her oversized head against the wall of her darkened apartment, she wondered if her smile also looked that empty. An empty smile, but a mind too full. A light thud sounded as she sprawled onto the floor; her head being the last thing to fall as the glow of the phone engulfed her.