Measureland: The Secret of Hunger

By Nataly Sedova

Three fourteen-year-old Ukrainian kids – overweight VARYA and SASHA and skinny, nerdy ZEUS (with a crush on Varya) – find themselves in the dimension of Measurland. It is a world entirely dominated by the culture of consumption. A prophecy announces the appearance of the three long-awaited Magi destined to save the country from the tyranny of the Corporation. At a beauty pageant of animated food, the kids meet the goddess of information VALENTINA and have to flee from the sudden apparition of the Corporation’s head D. TOTT. Unexpectedly, Zeus bounces back a lightning bolt shot at him from a weapon. A few teenagers, members of the underground resistance group AntiComm, help the newcomers escape and introduce them to THE KEEPER OF THE RHOMBUS – a celestial artifact above Measurland.
The three Ukrainians take part in a sabotage raid at a weight-loss industry expo. There, they see the Scales of Harmony, which are said to grant wishes only if made by a true balanced person. Zeus trains his power to catch and deflect lightning in order to be able to defend himself, his new friends, and Varya, who has fallen in love with one of the AntiComm boys. The Keeper of the Rhombus informs them that both the Corporation and AntiComm are looking for a mysterious Pyramid. Its possession gives one the eternal power over Measurland. It is also likely that the three are the Magi who will be able to find it. Through trial and error, the group finds out that Varya can communicate with creatures and Sasha sees things that are normally hidden from people. To make it possible for the people of Measurland to feel for the first time the taste of food without magical tastifiers, the group raids a tastifier factory. All these events are observed by GOD. After an argument with the Keeper, the AntiComm invites the three to see a gorging match, where they become convinced that the people of Measurland are dying of obesity and the Corporation is hiding it. After this they raid a castle, where the group liberates hostages from a dungeon. Under threat of death, Zeus manages to raise a shock wave that sweeps away the enemy forces. The kids flee the castle on a floating pink Island of Love. The Infogoddess reminds the three about the Scales that grant wishes. To be weighed on them, Varya and Sasha think that they must lose 60 pounds each. To choose a method of getting into shape, they watch The Extreme Willpower Show and attend a Festival of weight-loss unions. They resolve to stop eating and take motivation pills but lapse after just one day and devour all the healthy food at AntiComm. To replenish supplies, the kids have to go to the Gormandarium superstore, where all food is synthetic. Gorging on it nightly, away from Zeus’ eyes, Varya and Sasha gain weight. The others record their binges with a hidden camera. Seeing herself on screen, Varya sinks into depression.
Meanwhile, God and the DEVIL meet to sum up the provisional results of their bet. The devil turns the sin of Gluttony into hunger and upsets the balance in the world. The three teenagers then make peace and agree that it is all hunger’s fault. They are immediately teleported into the castle of a mysterious wizard. He sends Varya into the body of her great-grandmother in 1933, the time of the Great Famine in Ukraine. Varya survives her dangerous adventures in Ukraine’s past and returns back to present. The mysterious wizard turns out to be HUNGER himself. The devil has imprisoned him in the castle and instead unleashed the world Hunger’s cunning rival APPETITE, adored by people, routinely putting themselves at risk of obesity. Varya is now certain that Hunger is innocent. A Tablet that she won from death in 1933 is evidence that they are indeed the chosen ones who will liberate Measurland.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nataly Sedova
• Release date: May 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005946715

Nataly Sedova

I am a Ukraine-based writer. My fifteen years of work at the largest weight-loss clinic in Ukraine have convinced me that it is pointless to say to someone, “OK, here’s your calorie limit, get in shape! Oh, and don’t forget to hit the gym!” A person has to transform their eating habits and the way they see themselves and food. An interesting story may help. Only I can know how many cycles of losing and gaining weight I might have been able to avoid if I had had a book like this in my hands back when I was 14. I think many people who were trapped in this endless circle would agree. After all, inside each of us we can still find that same teenager.

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COVER.jpeg

Nataly A. Sedova

Measureland: The secret of Hunger

Copyright © 2017 Nataly A. Sedova

All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

AKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am immensely grateful to Yaroslav Prykhodko for his help with translating and editing the manuscript.

A big thank you goes to Yermak Yehor for illustrating the book and creating the cover.

Measurland:

The Secret of Hunger

__________

Nataly A. Sedova

***

Fingers.

Just bone, with tatters of flesh.

Stroking my face, plaiting my fair braid, lulling me to sleep.

Lipless mouths whis-s-s-spering in my ear, Thou shalt not kill.

But I’m not giving in: the bastard will bite the dust! Croak!

And the precious dream will come true: anyone will be able to get thin.

Even me.

The secret of hunger will be laid open.

The seven million innocents will live.

If he dies.

Then why are the dead begging not to kill him?

What do their decayed brains know?

And what do I not know?

***

A woman lies sprawled across the aisle. Bits of chewed popcorn cling to her glistening pink tongue, deep in the gape of her mouth. A bottle-green fly is exploring them with quick pats of its feet. The movie theater auditorium is growing brighter – the show is over. The spectators are making their way to the exits, animated, eyes lit up, chattering about what they’ve just seen. Someone bursts out laughing.

Hey, people, am I the only one seeing this? Are you blind? Why are you stepping over her? Why isn’t anyone calling an ambulance?

A gurgling sound: a cleaning robot hoovers up the scattered popcorn, sucks in the woman’s pinkie, chokes, and stalls.

The woman doesn’t budge. The fly has crawled out of her mouth and into a nostril.

I feel like I’m going to throw up.

My neighbor brushes against a gray-haired fat guy in the next seat. The guy keels over, blocking the passage. Fizzling orange pop spills out of a plastic cup clutched in his hand. The neighbor swears, pushes the gray head aside with the toe of his shoe, and flashes me a gentlemanly smile, gesturing for me to go first.

I stare at the blue lips of the fallen man. Suck in air. The hairs on my arms stand on end.

I look around the auditorium: pale children, men, women here and there, frozen still.

Their hands squeeze half-eaten concession stand junk food; straws of half-finished sodas stick out from their lips.

They are all dead.

People, come on!

You walk over dead bodies in a movie theater and just traipse along, minding your business.

Just what kind of country is this?!

To stop myself from sobbing, I raise my eyes to the ceiling. Across a field of silver stars, a bright red slogan snakes and winds: Measurland – Nation of Taste Temptations.

What am I here for?

Will I ever go back home?

Why, oh why did I whisper that stupid rhyme about gold!

I’m suddenly aware I’m thinking of myself as someone else, a stranger. A Varvara.

If someone wrote a tale about her terrifying adventures, about hunger and love – what would that tale be like?

1 THE THREE

Varya

Ugh, how am I so fat! Come on, just a little! Just another half inch! Please! Varvara Light exhaled heavily. She stood in front of the mirror, hopeless – a plump fourteen-year-old girl with smooth rosy cheeks and straight blond hair down to her waist. The zipper had bitten like a shark into her muffin top. It was stuck dead. Tears filled her cobalt-blue eyes. Varya was sucking her stomach in so hard she felt sick. The slinky pink dress turned her body into a bologna sausage squeezed with a belt. Her chances of showing up in school wearing a dress were melting like ice cream in the sun. Maybe two ice creams, which was how many she had already had that morning. Will have to wear the uniform again. If I could just learn to deal with hunger! If you can do that, you can get on pretty much any diet, and in a couple of months – voila, you are a model. Eh, if it wasn’t for the hunger... Oh God, what has to happen for me to finally lose weight?

Zeus and Sasha

Check and mate!

Pawns, knights, rooks, and queens burst into the air and rattled across the floor of the classroom.

A blow. A blinding explosion in front of his eyes. Bright pain in the right ear. He felt the black and white cells of the chessboard dig into his cheek.

He thought he’d checkmate me! the Bull thundered. Loser!

To the tune of his classmates’ laughter, the world tumbled over like an open sandwich.

His head buzzed. Idiot. You walked right into that one. As if you can actually beat the Bull at chess. He probably makes five spelling mistakes in the word chess. Now all you have for company is this random dusty trash in the janitor’s closet. The important thing – here he sniffed and tightened his grip on the white chess knight in his hand – is not to think about the shiner under your eye. And also about that embarrassing debacle and flight in full view of the entire ninth grade of this pretty average Ukrainian school.

He was Zeus Orlyk – black-haired, dark-eyed, stoop-shouldered, very skinny, and fourteen years old. What was his mom, a professor of Greek and Roman Studies, thinking when she named her son Zeus? Bullying knew no end. But really, he was already more or less used to being a laughingstock. Kindergarten, school, the street – Zeus crash-landed into the role of the local scapegoat everywhere, all the while wearing his mom’s pride, the fearsome name Zeus.

His gloomy thoughts on the subject of fearsome so much it’s tearsome were interrupted by sobs coming from behind a wigwam of floor mops. A dim lightbulb barely lit the walls, which were painted depressing dull gray. A pyramid of grubby green metal buckets towered in the corner, with a tattered volleyball net thrown over it.

Who’s here? Zeus asked hoarsely, getting up from the floor. There came another burst of mournful sounds, mixed with Stinking skunks, I’ll get them some day!

Zeus dusted off his shorts. And then it happened. She appeared.

Pompous names were not Zeus’s mom’s only passion. All through his childhood, she loved to read to him before bed this one book with the highbrow title Ancient Greek Mythology. That’s why her appearance brought back to him his mom’s voice: The depths of the wine-dark sea parted wide. And lo, she stepped ashore – Aphrodite, born of the foam of the waves. Or something like that.

Grunting and breathing heavily, Varvara Light climbed out of the school trash. First to emerge was Varya’s sizable behind. Then the girl stood up. In her hands, she held a quarter-gallon glass jar.

It was almost summer and students were allowed to wear loose clothes to school. But Varya had on her a white blouse and black skirt, which, it had to be said, were bursting at the seams. Varya was... uh... on the hefty side.

Zeus glanced at those familiar long, heavy waves of blond hair falling on her shoulders. Her face was swollen from crying and you almost couldn’t see her dark-blue eyes.

She’s cute, isn’t she! he thought to himself, probably a hundredth time.

He had a crush on her since forever. In class, Varya usually sat next to him. You could say they were buddies. He would let her copy his algebra and geometry homework. For her? Anything.

She would write his literature and history essays for him. Having done both versions of the math test (for himself and for Varya) he would watch her read books under her desk. Zeus didn’t much like books. Gaming, on the other hand – yeah, that was his thing. Sure, during his many wakeful nights Mom would often threaten to cast down to the Titans of Tartarus his laptop and smartphone, but – praise be to all of Mom’s gods! – he had so far managed to wheedle his way out of it every time.

Basically, Light was a cool gal. Of course, behind her back they said all kinds of things, fatso and stuff. But to her face – nah, they wouldn’t dare. Sure, it’s dumb to envy a girl. But he still envied her a bit: smart, brave, doesn’t mince words, takes zero crap from anybody.

I wish I were like that, sighed Zeus. I wonder why she’s crying, though?

Meanwhile, Varya straightened her skirt, smeared the runny makeup across her cheeks, and pressed the jar to her side with her left hand. The middle finger on her right was pointing up militantly, black with mom’s mascara.

Screw you! I’m not gonna cry because of you. Skunks! If you are fat, it’s for life. Makeup or no makeup, you’re going to be ugly. Being a fatty is not glaaamorous, Varya drawled, clearly mocking somebody. I may be fat, but you are dumb. Now, that’s definitely for life!

She plopped down on an upturned metal bucket. It squeaked plaintively, bristling with the scales of cracked paint. She tossed her blond mane to one side, rested her chin on her fist and started thinking.

It’s bunk, of course. Larissa from eleventh grade, the school’s beauty queen, wasn’t dumb. Maybe she wasn’t super smart. But what’s the difference, if you have a model figure and a Barbie mug? The personality though... just one word – bitch!

Guys were crazy about her. An entire chorus of sidekick girls swirled around her all the time. They looked her in the mouth and laughed at any nonsense she said. Larissa did not talk; she, in her own word, twittered. Also, she adored glamor. Glam life, glamor news, glamorous magazines... Sometimes Larissa would read them aloud to her posse.

To be entirely and perfectly honest, Varya would easily give up all her talents for literature and history to have even just a week of Larissa’s fairy-tale life.

It’s such unbelievable luck – to be skinny and beautiful! It must be so awesome, in a store, to choose not what you managed to squeeze yourself into, but what looks great on you!

With Larisska’s slim figure, that would be anything, even a shabby coat the color of a toddler’s yesterday’s dinner. Varya had been wearing it for two years already. Her parents had bought it for her to grow into, and she grew all right. Horizontally. The girl sighed bitterly. Within two years, she somehow pulled off gaining about thirty pounds. She had always eaten well, and she had always been – how do grownups put it? - stout. Her dad, who was an army colonel and who adored his precious kid, ruled with military bluntness that you needed a large body to store a great personality. Bless him, but how would he know what it’s like being called a fatso. And don’t even dream of wearing a mini-skirt, not even once in your life!

Varya chuckled at the image of her dad dreaming of wearing a mini-skirt, and then she finally noticed Zeus.

What are you doing here?

Nothing. Hanging out. Why were you crying?

Varya blushed. She realized that the four-eyes had heard everything. OK, he didn’t actually wear glasses, so, not a four-eyes, technically. In her head she usually just called him a nerd and a loser. Then again, anyone could call her that too, to be totally honest... She sighed.

Larissa and her bunch saw me putting on makeup in the bathroom, and...

And what?

Well, you heard me...

The words caught on something in her throat and got stuck. She didn’t want to talk about how Larissa’s sidekicks had locked her in a stall. Or how for the next twenty minutes they laughed at her for trying to look a bit less terrible than she appeared to herself and, Varya supposed, to the entire school.

In their school, there was only one kid fatter than her – Sasha Petrychenko from her grade. He transferred in from another school before the start of the classes this year. She was really fed up with questions if he was her brother, being blond and fat like her and all that.

Forget about it. They are idiots. Mean, dumb idiots. Don’t cry because of them, they are not worth it.

Unexpectedly, Zeus felt strong next to Varya. He wanted to protect her, comfort her. Mom would have probably, what’s the word, rejoiced and proclaimed him (yes, in those actual syllables!) a divinity protecting Persephone or some other ancient chick with a stupid name. But he was out of things to say to his Persephone…

Hey, listen, let’s give them the finger together, huh? You and me. Two each! OK? On the count of three.

Giving the finger? Varya laughed, then snorted. That’s so primary school. Then she felt embarrassed. Just five minutes ago she herself... She glanced into his eyes. Clear and open. Dark. Like the hair. Cute face with a tan. So what if Zeus is too skinny with stooped shoulders?

He’s no loser, she should have never called him that. A decent kid. It’s just that name... Interesting, where did he get the shiner? Battle wounds...

For a moment, Zeus Orlyk turned into a valiant hero, laughing roaringly over the bodies of his vanquished enemies. That was an image even more impressive than Dad in a mini-skirt. OK, I’ll ask him later who decorated his eye. She busted out two excellent improper gestures and was ready to show them to the door.

Zeus was about to do the same, dedicating both fingers to his old nemesis – the Bull. He took a deep breath and shouted happily, One! Two! Three!

The door swung open and someone large flew into the closet, yelling, with a bucket on their head. All four outstretched fingers dug into a soft belly. The newcomer gasped. The door banged. On the other side of it someone laughed and jeered, Petrychenko’s a fat tool!

Zeus recognized the voices of the Bull and his high-school buddies.

Yeah, the Bull’s a douche. Petrychenko was a sorry sight, mumbling something under his helmet and trying to get it off. His clothes were soaked in dirty water. His yellow T-shirt was rolled up, exposing a pale stomach. It hung down over the baggy gray pants, trembling like jelly.

A blue janitor’s coat was wrapped around Petrychenko’s shoulders. He was clutching a piece of soap in one hand and a dripping mop in the other. How he was planning to get the bucket off his head without letting go of these other articles of school property was a mystery.

Standing on tiptoe, Zeus started taking off the unfortunate piece of headgear. And right away he regretted it. Sasha was crying. A lot.

F-f-four against one... Mo-morons. The janit-t-tor sent me to g-get water, and these assholes were wait-t-t-ting in the ba-ba-bathroom. D-dragged me out into the hallway, then that b-b-bucket on my head... all the g-g-guys saw it, and the girls... The B-b-bull recorded it on his phone. S-said he’d p-p-post it online. Asshole!

Sasha wanted to die right then and there just to unsee the curious faces of his schoolmates, the witnesses of his shame, just to never show up in school ever again. Better to die! Over the years he had already gotten used to a lot – the stutterer, fatso and loser whose only pleasure in life was playing shooters and tanks day in and day out. But like this, in front of the entire school – this was a first.

Deep inside, he knew this was a lie. Nana had him transferred out of his old school, even though it was pretty much next to home, because something like today happened there, too. It’s like they say, a sucker is forever. Nana’s right when she says (which she always does), I guess that’s carved in our destiny.

Sasha was burning inside. He was angry at himself for his cowardice and his fat body, for never being able to, so to speak, keep a poker face. He hated the Bull and his cronies – for today’s humiliation. He hated himself, too, for standing now in front of these two and crying like a baby. He would actually have to look them in the eye now.

Eh, we only die once!

With a resolute jerk, Sasha pushed the bucket up off his forehead. It now looked like a saucy tilted top hat.

I’m Sasha P-petrychenko. Ninth grade.

Varya Light.

And I’m Zeus. I think we are in history and math together.

Sasha and Varya sized each other up.

Ha-have you been crying too?

Yessir. You are not the only one who got caught in the bathroom. And not the only one they like to call a fatso. Forget about it. They are idiots. Mean idiots. Don’t cry, they are not worth it.

Varya realized she had just repeated Zeus Orlyk’s words and turned to him gratefully.

So, you’re, like, Zeus, the God?

The boy smiled.

Sasha straightened his shoulders and held out his hand to Zeus. The boys shook hands and Petrychenko blinked at Zeus’s shiner. Who d-d-did you get that from?

I was about to beat the Bull at chess.

Did you?

Nope...

Did you have a fight?

Zeus took a breath and blurted out, He kicked my butt. And I could do zilch about it. So, I ran away. In front of everybody.

The ghost of Zeus the Hero, laughing roaringly over the bodies of his defeated enemies, squeaked like a little mouse and scurried behind the pyramid of mops.

At least he’s honest! thought Varvara, not easily discouraged from looking for the best in people.

I’m not the only one! Sasha smiled in satisfaction.

Now she thinks I’m a loser, Zeus wilted inside, struck by his own dumb honesty.

On the plus side, at least it didn’t take long to explain to Sasha the whole flipping the bird thing. Soon six eager middle fingers faced the door.

Each one of this trio was thinking about their own thing.

Zeus transported himself into the day when he would have enough courage to challenge the Bull to an honest fight and break off his horns. Maybe Varya would even be there to see it.

Tossing the soap into the bucket that he had finally pulled off, Sasha made a wish: someday he would plant this bucket smack down on the Bull’s head. And he would delete that smartphone video before they put it up online. Also, he would stop being so fat.

Varya shut her eyes super tight and under her trembling eyelids she saw herself thin. Really thin, skinnier than Larisska. Then all the guys would stare at her, not at that evil witch. She smiled, imagining the bulging eyes on that rat and her posse. And Varya would show up in school wearing a mini-skirt and tell Larissa where she should stick her precious glamor.

On the count of three! Zeus shouted cheerfully for the second time.

One... Two... Three!

Bright as gold can be! Varya added in a whisper, not really knowing why.

If only she knew then…

2 THE ANNUAL FOOD SHOW

There was a loud bang. Varya opened her eyes wide. In that instant, light flooded the closet through the rectangle of the open doorway. Bright and golden indeed. But it vanished as quickly as it had rushed in, smothered out by thick grayness. Something was burning. Eww... The closet was quickly filling up with acrid smoke. Another explosion thundered. The door whammed into the wall, swung back, and shut with a crash. The floor shook under their feet. As they were falling, each of them managed to grab ahold of something: Varya held on to her quarter-gallon glass jar, Sasha clutched at a bucket and mop, and Zeus squeezed in his fist the white chess knight, his trophy from a good combination in that unfinished game.

The smoke filled their nostrils and tickled their throats, forcing out coughing fits. We have to run! We’ll suffocate in here!

From behind the door, they heard a mannered, cranky voice – like a duchess who has just discovered a cockroach on her plate, wiggling its legs.

What moron is responsible for the logistics?! The grillarium’s just exploded, the chicken drumstick is totally ruined! All this smoke! And the wig! Oh dear gods, my wig will smell of smoke!

Ah! Madame Fashon, we will most certainly and faithfully take your observations into account when preparing the next Annual Fashion Food Show.

The wig lady snorted. The voices and the clacking of heels were approaching. Zeus dropped the knight into his shorts pocket and helped Varya get up.

The kids looked at each other. Sasha put his eye to the keyhole. Too late.

Boom! The door slammed into his forehead. Under less insane circumstances, it would have been funny. Three faces, smeared with soot. Varvara, frowning and pressing the glass jar to her ear like it’s her little brother or sister. Sasha on the floor, clutching his bucket and mop, ridiculously draped in a blue janitor’s coat…

Zeus didn’t have time to imagine what he looked like to an outside observer. A very tall woman, resembling a vulture in a violet wig, stood in the doorway. She looked over the kids, made a face, and smacked her scarlet, thickly painted lips. Madame Fashon, presumably. The woman adjusted the corset of her tight green heel-length dress, and then her eyes paused on Varvara. Exclaiming, I found the chicken drumstick for us! Come here, dear! the lady lunged forward and grabbed Varya with her bony, red-nailed paw.

The boys stepped forward, putting themselves between Varya and Madame Fashon. At that moment, Zeus felt the warm chess knight dive into a hole in his pocket and slide down the inner side of his leg. He squeezed his knees. The carved horse got firmly wedged between his kneecaps.

Instantaneously, as Zeus’s mom would have put it, there sounded the crack of doom and thunderous voice, reflected hundredfold by that demure goddess, Echo.

"Let the dimension of Measurland be created as part of the Wager and a field in which the forces of light and darkness shall face each other. And the Great Three-From-Where shall come at the appointed hour to find the Pyramid and the key thereto. And the first of them shall be the master of a horse like thunder. And the second of them shall hear every creature of the earth, air, and water. And the third of them shall become the proprietor..."

The otherworldly voice continued to roar, but there was no time to listen. For some reason, the lady shot a furtive glance over her shoulder, and her model body twitched. Her fingers still squeezing Varya’s arm, she dragged them all out of the closet.

After the darkness of the tight, enclosed space, the light was almost painful. The kids squinted blindly. Where did the school hallway go? Where are we? There was a strong burning smell in the air and puddles of white foam on the floor. A fire extinguisher lay in a corner. Here and there towered piles of torn boxes, spilling over with curly violet and lemon-yellow wigs. Easels and empty cases for musical instruments were scattered on the floor. The red walls of the small, claustrophobic room were densely hung with paintings in unwieldy frames. Headless black mannequins in lace dresses thronged in half-darkness. To the right of the closet door started an ancient-looking wooden staircase with lacquered railings. Creaking, it led the kids and their strange new acquaintance up and to the back of a mysterious stage. The silver velvet of the stage curtain hung in heavy folds.

What is this, a theater? Zeus looked around in confusion. The air was hot from the spotlights, like in a sauna. Rhythmic music was banging on their ears.

Huffing and puffing, the vulturous lady dragged Varya after her.

Dearest child, Madame Fashon kept saying over the noise. You have nothing to be afraid of. You will be out there on the runway! Ou-la-la! Don’t you get it, silly, thousands of girls dream about this. And you are getting it for free. Say yes! Oh sweetie, this is going to be a smashing event. You will be the chicken drumstick of the year at the Annual Fashion Food Show! This is such an honor, you silly pumpkin.

For as long as she could remember, Varya had imagined herself on a runway. Just once. Maybe just to wash the floor, but it had to be the floor of a runway. This – even Larissa would never have dreamed of this!

As though under hypnosis, the dearest child stuck the jar into Zeus’s hands, mumbled I’ll be back soon, and trotted after the red-lipped hostess of the show. The boys watched on helplessly, left behind. Madame Fashon wasn’t exactly ugly or nasty, she was just, somehow... unreal. Her violet hair in small curls, shifty eyes, and huge red mouth weren’t that extraordinary. It’s just...

Where is the school? The boys didn’t particularly miss it – that is, the school... But still... Where did it go? A mystery...

To Zeus’s silent question, Sasha shrugged. They stared around them curiously. Walls with gilded moldings, draped with turquoise silk, were reflected in ancient heavy-frame mirrors. Sasha looked up, squinting. Bronze curls swarmed all over the high emerald-green ceiling. Light fixtures hung from it like one-eyed monster skeletons.

The slippery brown parquet floor zigzagged around them in sparkling patterns. Under their feet, two crowns intertwined with two ornate letters C inside a gold laurel wreath. Zeus glanced at the glitzy carved chandeliers – the candles were in the shape of pot-bellied little cupids with bows and arrows. His eyes were watering. What’s with the stink?

It was food. Masses of food infested the backstage rooms. Along the walls, red, green, and blue bags of chips rubbed shoulders with twelve-packs of colored sparkling water. Several half-opened cartons of cakes and cookies propped up a stack of greasy pizza boxes.

In one corner loomed a huge yellow pyramid of cheese blocks. Pink garlands of sausages under the ceiling resembled Christmas decorations. The smell of smoked meat, so thick you could cut it with a knife, misted the hot, suffocating air. Looking like a bizarre reeking chandelier, a burgundy-red ham was swinging on a tarred rope. Melting ice cream and burgers were piled up by the table. Something kept crunching under the boys’ feet. They looked closer: the floor was strewn with cracker crumbs and broken potato chips. If this is a theater, then why is there so much food around?

The odor coming from all this edible mass was so strong that Zeus felt nauseous.

Wow! Sasha whispered in fascination, fondling the icebergs of groceries with his wide-open blue eyes.

He slipped on a pool of oil and landed on his rear end. Getting back on his feet, he picked up a glossy orange carton with a label that read Life Powder.

Someone pushed Zeus hard on the shoulder, snorted and ran off without apologizing.

Strangely dressed people now scurried around them, probably Fashon’s assistants. Confused, Sasha and Zeus stared at their long gray-and-pink jackets, embroidered with flowers, and silver-brocade shoes with gem-studded buckles. A strong smell of perfume almost overpowered the food odors.

Get a load of the outfits... Straight out of a history textbook.

M-m-maybe they are shooting a m-m-movie?

Madame Fashon’s female assistants looked like animated lemon cakes. Their lush, bright-yellow lace dresses swept the floor. Lime-green silk ribbons shimmered in the canary-colored wigs.

The damsels’ job seemed to be grabbing the food scattered across the floor and bringing it before Fashon herself. She was sprawled languidly, legs crossed, on a throne upholstered with cherry-colored velvet. Next to her perched a small table, like a golden-legged spider. On it stood an open orange carton of Life Powder. Madame was scratching it absent-mindedly with one of her scarlet talons.

With her other hand, Fashon began making mysterious gestures over a greasy white pizza box. Frowning, Sasha watched her manipulations. Something he had glimpsed on TV just a few days before, something about shamans, flitted through his memory.

Why is she w-w-waving her hand like that?

Who knows...

Then something smacked loudly, as though someone planted a big wet kiss on a microphone. Bits and pieces of the box burst in all directions. Right before their eyes, the pizza ballooned into a colossal pizzongous ogre, like a six-foot-tall wheel of a monster-truck. And then it got up... on its feet.

Madame straightened up on her throne, threw back her head and laughed. She scooped up another handful of the orange powder and showered it generously over the Pizza Risen from the Dead.

Zeus thought he was going mad. The nightmarish wheel of greasy goodness extended a pair of arms with short-fingered hands out of its flesh and rubbed the two pepperoni eyes on its face, if one could say that about a pizza. A sharp smell of pepper and ketchup flooded the room, stinging the kids’ nostrils.

Ah, mon ami, I’m so glad to welcome you at our Annual Fashion Food Show! You are so glamorously greasilicious, so convincingly smoked-sausagissimo... Oh, charmant, charmant, my dear! Fashon’s voice rustled as she picked up the hem of her dress. Pizza kept awkwardly shifting her weight from one foot to the other. A yellow pool of melted cheese was spreading under it. It looked as though Pizza was kneading the cheese with its feet.

Merci, Madame, the monster squeaked. I hope that your Food Beauty Contest accumulating the Annual Fashion Food Show will prove to be simply deligh...

Accompanying, not accumulating. But whatever, the violet dame cut Pizza short and snapped at the crowd of assistants, Bring over the next one! Hey, you, yes, you... I’m talking to you!

The giant strained and with a wet plop pulled its feet out of the swamp of cheese. Waddling and leaving long yellow strands on the floor behind it, Pizza dragged its lumpy mass to a dressing room marked Stars of the Contest. Two nimble assistants were already running to Fashon with bags of chips.

Madame grabbed a random bag without looking, sprinkled it with orange powder, and turned sharply toward Varya.

Just at that moment Varvara noticed a mirror on the opposite wall. And she almost fainted. In the reflected depths, something misshapen like a brown sack was moving dimly. For some reason, her own legs in sneakers were sticking out from the bottom of it. And a chicken bone thick as an arm decorated the top. Below the bone, Varya was horrified to find a hole out of which her own face, covered in something brown, was staring at her with saucer-wide cobalt eyes.

Runway, you said? Catwalk, huh?

She felt a stinging in her throat.

Hmm, not bad, not half-bad, Madame Fashon gave a nod, her eyes carefully scanning the girl clad in a fried-drumstick suit.

Madame motioned to the stylist and added, Perfume, my stupid Pierre, where is the perfume? She tightened her lips into a bright angry dot and snapped her fingers impatiently.

Pleese no worry, it’ll be here presently, m’lady!

The stylist’s black eyes flashed, he gave a dashing twirl to his mustache, vanished, it seemed, for a millisecond and then materialized again. Varya gave him a closer look.

A large gem gleamed in the folds of his lush, complicated tie twisted into an extravagant knot and disappearing into a white velvet jacket. The beige lace of the shirt sleeves shrouded his thin fingers. In one hand, Pierre was clutching a brown leather briefcase. He twirled his mustache again and made a graceful gesture with the wrist of his other hand, the pinkie sticking out daintily.

A bottle of cloudy liquid, marked Additive E451 ‘Grilled Chicken,’ nature-identical, jumped out of the briefcase as if by magic. Pierre squeezed the sprayer and leaned toward the girl with a slimy grin.

If someone had asked Varya before which stink she thought was the stinkiest stink ever, she would have thought of the school bathroom. That is, after the janitor had treated every inch of it with that virulent substance called Microbe Slayer. Under the assault of Pierre, armed with the perfume bottle, Varya realized her mistake. Microbe Slayer had nothing on this concoction from hell.

Ou-la-la! A smidgen of grease on ze cheeks and you will look parfaitement!

I don’t want grease, Varya muttered sullenly. Please...

Ah, such a little thing, don’t be stubborn. It doesn’t hurt, just a teeny bit of grease. You want to win ze contest, don’t you?

Yessir. I just don’t like grease...

"Here, I’m afraid, what matters is what I like, girl."

I said no, Varya snapped grimly.

Everyone fell silent in anticipation. Even the music, frantically screaming from the speakers, seemed to be screaming less loudly now. Fashon’s naked shoulders shuddered as she drilled the prospective chicken drumstick with a hard stare. Then the familiar prolonged smack sounded. A giant bag of potato chips popped up between the girl and the woman.

Madame jumped to her feet. The chips were about ten inches taller than her. The glossy red bag stood swaying tipsily side to side.

Stubborn brat! the dame squealed, sticking out her head from behind the bag. If only I had more time...

"Ah Madame, one shouldn’t vorrrey so because of some little... Pierre twitched his mustache, ...some little... foowl!"

The dame smirked, shrugging her shoulders sprinkled with gold dust. Well, not so little – a hundred and fifty pounds at least.

And she clacked her tongue.

Ah well, my incongruous Pierre, time is short. We’ll have to let her out on the runway as is, half-baked. She’ll have only herself to blame, silly, stubborn...

Above the stage, a clock inlaid with silver and gems resoundingly struck three times. Fashon glanced up, narrowed her eyes, and almost angrily threw another handful of life powder at the mutant bag of chips standing in front of her.

In the unprofessional opinion of Sasha and Zeus, watching all this, Chips was slow on the uptake. A full minute had passed, and the bag wasn’t showing any signs of life. But the violet dame was not in the least concerned. The assistants were already hauling a fat ham over to her, crouching under its weight (grunting and farting, Petrychenko commented caustically).

Then, with a booming crunch, the bag finally swelled like a red balloon and its four corners burst open. Crumbling yellow limbs crawled out. Chips yawned widely, the black slit of the mouth cutting across the brand name. Reaching down with its artificial-flavor-stinking arm, Chips scratched what presumably was its belly. Then it let out a ringing belch, spewing forth some crumbs, and stomped off heavily to the stars’ dressing room without saying a word to Madame Fashon.

Zeus followed Chips with a bewildered eye. What’s all this stuff going on around here? How are we going to return home? We have to get Varya and find a way back to the school closet.

Sasha was thinking the same, although Chips had definitely made an impression on him: sometimes (and he had the courage to admit it) he behaved exactly like that bag.

M-m-maybe we should f-f-ind out where we are? he whispered in Zeus’s ear. And how t-t-to get out of here. Als-so, what are we sup-p-p-posed to d-do with this?

Looking embarrassed, the boy pointed at the jar, which Zeus wouldn’t let go of (Varya had trusted him with it, after all!), and at his own mop and bucket. The soap was loudly rolling around inside.

Look!

The nimble Pierre was pushing Varvara the Drumstick to the stars’ dressing room. The boys waited a little and slipped inside after them. The door closed behind their back.

Sasha’s mouth fell open. What the!.. Am I d-dreaming? Som-mebody ppi-pinch me.

About forty foodlike monsters were swarming around in the space the size of a school gym. It was a dazzling sight. Madame had brought to life almost all of the foodstuffs. The medley of smells could knock you off your feet. Zeus wrinkled his nose and pointed to the side.

A six-foot tall package marked Sugar was waddling past them like a duck. Its contents were spilling out of a narrow long wound on its back and falling on the floor with a quiet rustle. The package didn’t notice. Following the snow-white sugar line with their eyes, the boys saw a chocolate bar as tall as a phone booth. It sensed their look, hid the knife behind its back with a quick fluid movement, and smiled sweetly.

Suddenly the door swung open. Sasha and Zeus ducked behind a pile of boxes near the wall.

Dear contestants! Fashon cooed, pausing on the room’s threshold. Pink and white-veined, Ham was tenderly embracing Madame by the waist.

Poking out her butt, Fashon curved in a picture-perfect pose in the doorway and stretched her lips in a scarlet smile. She spread her arms wide, as though she wanted to hug all these bizarre monsters, each and all of them.

Then another voice intruded on the scene. Ah, my dearest! Mon amour!

The source of this exclamation was round, bald, and thoroughly gleeful. A pair of watery little eyes on his plump face shone with delight. The smooth skin of his skull reflected the spotlights. The shiny grin was almost buried in the froth of a white lace collar, accessorized with a ruby brooch. His short, red, gold-buttoned jacket, black velvet pantaloons, and beige tights sat on him like a saddle on a cow. The ensemble’s owner, however, was in excellent spirits. This doughnut of a man was stamping his small feet happily and clapping his hands to the music.

Looking at him, Petrychenko smiled grimly: how nice it is to see someone fatter than yourself for a change. He squinted at Zeus: is his new friend thinking the same thing? Which is, that the bare-skull human doughnut and he, Sasha, aren’t much different as far as body type goes?

Meanwhile, Fashon was melting in the shorty’s embrace.

Ah! Bellissimo! Welcome, Gloss Magnificenti! My dear, what a day! What a day!

The doughnut bent down to Madame’s dry little paw, extended for a kiss. A large yellow diamond flashed bright on her finger.

Fashon hugged Gloss and kissed him loudly on his sweaty bald head.

If you want to know what I think, here at the Grannn Palacier they only hire complete idiottos.

But! Madame unsuccessfully tried to pinch the fatty’s belly, bulging under the jacket. I bet the Food Beauty Contest will be top notch.

It cannot be otherwise with you at the helm, belissima! Oh! I’m lost for words! You are incomparable! Charmante! And all of the twenty-one hundred and twenty-seven glossy magazines owned by my Corporation will not tire of reminding their readers of that.

You are much too kind!

Madame dabbed her dry eyes with a purple handkerchief.

And I find this a wonderful occasion... for a light snack! Gloss finished his tirade happily, if somewhat awkwardly.

Fashon clapped her hands. There was a clatter and stomping of feet. A queue of servants solemnly filed in, bringing trays laden with delicacies to a long table in the middle of the room. Soon the lace tablecloth completely disappeared from view. Burgers, candy, hotdogs, chips, pepperoni, sauces, and French fries mingled with doughnuts, cans of whipped cream, pasta, onion rings, chocolate, cookies, sugared sparkling water, cream cakes, and ice cream.

And what’s that over there, anyway? Sasha wrinkled his brow. Something weird. He had never in his life seen food like this! Blue, violet, lime-green, sparkling and gleaming and steaming rolls, small neon pyramids, and other geometric shapes... They belched smoke, burst, hissed and jumped. That can’t be right... Is that stuff even food?

Ou-la-la! Fashon and Gloss gently sighed in unison, rubbing their hands.

What the couple started doing after that, Zeus thought, could best be described by the verb to suck down. Sasha could not agree with him. In his view, the expression to pack it in reflected the nature of the proceedings better.

But that was not the most disgusting thing. Their noses twitching, the grub monsters began flocking from all around the room towards the smell of this humongous snack bar. Forty-two shapes around the food-laden table, chomping in a chorus – that was a sight to behold. Really though, watching the giant multilayered bigburger, brought to life by Fashon only an hour before, now open its mouth, poke out its beef-patty-brown tongue covered with mayonnaise splotches, lick off the table its fast-food brethren, grind them up inside its mouth, lick its lips, and smear ketchup all over its face was kind of fun for Sasha.

Zeus, on the other hand, could barely keep it inside. His forehead felt clammy. He leaned against the boxes and wiped the sweat and soot off his face with a sleeve. Fun? Looks more like cannibalism to me!

Canni... what? Sasha looked at him with round eyes. N-n-no need t-to swear.

He wasn’t swearing, a fresh, tinkling voice explained from above. "Cannibalism is the consumption by animals of other animals of the same species."

The boys looked up. A young woman was perched cross-legged on the pyramid of life powder boxes behind which they were hiding. Zeus narrowed his eyes. Where have I seen her? Beautiful face, eyes of deep blue, two dark braids with green silk ribbons pleated in. Looking closer, the woman, clad in white pajamas with pink piglets, was actually hovering above the top box.

She winked at them. Chill, kids, no one else can see you down there. I’m Valentina, the local goddess of information. But you two are a pain, really. There I was, just minding my own business, painting...

The young lady bent down and shoved under their noses a fist, stained with yellow paint and holding a bunch of brushes. And then you with your query!

What query? the boys looked at each other.

Valentina swung her braids behind her back with a sweeping motion. The green ribbons flashed in the air.

"Query is a message sent to an automated system and containing a request for information retrieval," she explained patiently, waving the brushes like an orchestra conductor.

I answer questions. Like, you needed the definition of the term ‘cannibalism,’ and so here I am.

Dumbfounded, the boys stared at the goddess to the