"The Shape of Her Life," E.F. Schraeder

Today on Midwest Weird: “The Shape of Her Life” by E.F. Schraeder.

A Rhysling and Pushcart nominated poet, E.F. Schraeder is author of The Price of a Small Hot Fire (Raw Dog Screaming Press, 2023), What Happened Was Impossible (Ghoulish Books, 2023), and several other works. Schraeder’s creative work and nonfiction has appeared in Mystery Weekly Magazine, Ghoulish Tales, Vastarien: A Literary Journal, and other journals and anthologies. They believe in ghosts, magic, and dogs and hold an advanced degree in Library Science and PhD in ethics.

Midwest Weird is an audio literary magazine from Broads and Books Productions. We’re the home of weird fiction and nonfiction by Midwestern writers.

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Episode Transcript:

This is Midwest Weird, an audio literary magazine from Broads and Books Productions.

We’re the home of weird fiction and nonfiction by Midwestern writers.

Today’s episode: “The Shape of Her Life,” by E.F. Schraeder. Read by the Midwest Weird team.

Cora pulled out a membership card, grateful it bore no photo, and swiped. The glass doors to the gym wooshed open.

CoreFit had been open for three months and Jen, her once pudgy best friend, lost twenty pounds in seven weeks. What a way to beat the freshman fifteen.

She glanced away from the bright reflections, mortified by the hall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors. “Fluorescent lights are evil.” Focus on the goal. Get fit. Get perfect. Get CoreFit. She’d yell at Jen later for skimming over the harsh lights and mirrors.

No thumping music, no televisions. The place was quiet— eerily so. Maybe silence was the result of a gym with virtually enhanced routines. In the main workout area Cora eyed herself for a moment.

Doing exactly what she hated doing: scanning for flaws. Not that she hated herself, but she knew she had to change. Only three steps in and she couldn’t resist eying her hips, the curves of her stomach. This was why she hated mirrors. What woman didn’t?

She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “At least it’s empty.”

No matter how many affirmations and inspiring books she read about embracing her whole self, her body remained a project. Everywhere she looked she saw a list of things to fix. Like the Bride of Frankenstein, Cora was a work in progress.

Damn that Jen for getting her body right. She had the nerve to reveal she’d reached her goal weight at lunch, of all places. That was just mean.

***

First Jen stood up and posed like she was about to do a mic drop. Then she peeled off the oversized sweater and revealed a skin-tight black T-shirt. She cinched her hands at the waist and pursed her lips in a classic selfie-pout.

“What do you think?” Jen knew exactly what they thought. She twirled around so everyone at the table could see the results.

Skinny Jen. Pretty Jen. Better-than-you-Jen. The moment sent Cora into shock and seared into her memory. Jen had no bulges. No pudge, no flab, no sag. She was perfect.

“Holy batgirl!” Stacy said. She kicked Cora under the table.

“Wow. You look— wow. How’d you do it?” Damn. Cora bit down on her lip trying to stop herself from sounding too jealous, but she’d pay anything to get a body that tight. Everyone would want her now.

“A run in the woods does wonders, and, well, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jen said. A strange look flashed on her face.

Cora’s eyes sank onto her fruit plate. She pushed the food away. Pretending not to be hungry was a full time job. How could Jen do this at lunch? Cora swallowed some water and imagined feeling full. Cora’s empty stomach burned, writhing with acid. Digesting itself. It was a familiar feeling.

“It’s this amazing virtual reality workout at CoreFit. Have you heard about them? They use gaming tech. You workout harder than ever.”

Jen stared at her friends, winking, prodding them, daring them to outdo her.

Stacy smiled. “Good for you!”

“I’d practically kill for a body like that,” Cora said. She dropped her head in her hands.

Jen’s eyes glinted. “But would you die for it?” She poked Stacy in the arm.

Cora pulled a face. If CoreFit was for real, she had to try.

“Wow, girl.” Stacy stuffed a fistful of fries into her mouth. “Just, no.”

“The baby fat melts off,” Jen said. She posed again. “You won’t believe it. It’ll change your life. Well it changed mine, anyway. I’ve never felt better.”

That night, that’s what Cora told her parents, begging them to pay for it.

“I really need this. I can’t pay for it on top of tuition. I don’t want more talk-therapy or boring Weight Watchers. It’s all just whatever. The whole process is exhausting. CoreFit promises real change.”

Cora’s parents pulled up CoreFit’s website while their daughter rambled, suspicious of another gimmick, that Jen’s results were just a fluke.

“CoreFit worked miracles on Jen, and her parents paid for the membership. This technology will define the future of self-improvement. At least that’s what their website says.”

Her parents said nothing.

“I’ll finally get into the shape I want. Jen said she’s in the best shape of her life.”

“She’s twenty-two!” Cora’s mom shook her head.

“Will you sign me up?”

Her mother sighed. Her father groaned. They were nervous about agreeing, nervous it’d spark a relapse into obsessive behaviors, another breakdown, or worse.

“Honey, you’re beautiful. Can’t you see you’re good enough the way you are?”

“Not good enough to date anyone hot.”

“Cora, that’s ridiculous. Society’s beauty standards are out of line with reality.”

“So you basically want me to fail forever?”

Cora’s parents clicked into CoreFit’s stats, impressed that the technology monitored everything from heart rates to cortisol levels, and synced to optimize performance. Better yet, progress was monitored by a staff of specialists. CoreFit wasn’t some one size fits all bootcamp. CoreFit delivers—guaranteed. 

“Maybe this will be good for you, honey,” Mom said. “Get you into a routine.”

“Maybe you’ll learn to enjoy it.” Dad smiled.

Cora’s parents bought a six month membership within twenty-four hours.

***

Inside CoreFit, Cora frowned. God it’s so bright in here.

Jen showed off her CoreFit success, but damn her, she left out the cruel details of the mirrors. Jen knew how Cora felt.  Probably exactly how a lot of young women felt about mirrors: like they were accidents you couldn’t look away from.

Then again, Jen never said a word about the workouts.

Cora tried not to stare at herself and made her way toward the whirring sound of cardio equipment. Cora took in a deep breath then exhaled hard. Another pair of automatic doors opened to a gigantic space.

Only one other person in a pair of dark sweats pounded on a treadmill across the room. Jen said the machines linked into some kind of medical monitors or something, customizing workouts to meet optimal goals. Cora was glad to be almost alone for her first try— in case she bombed.

“I’ll give it my all.” Cora plugged a VR headset into the treadmill.

She typed in her age. A mechanical arm unlocked from a gear and swung behind her. Cora stood up straight while it measured her height. The arm cranked to one side and hovered at forehead level. Cora turned her head as a blinding white pulse of light arced into her eyes. A second armed whirred into place and landed a metal fingerlike apparatus at her waist.

“What the—?” Cora froze, nervous. She hadn’t expected it to be so… intimate.

The smell of lemon cleanser and air freshener mingled with sweat, providing a clean and fresh sense of comfort, but something about it stung her senses. This was just a gym, but the place was empty as a graveyard. She reminded herself not to be afraid.

Cora faced the monitor. The screen before her blinked bright white. Numbers whirred onscreen like a slot machine, calculating her measurements.

A voice came from the speaker.

“Please select your regimen: trail run, indoor track, outdoor marathon.”

Alone in the woods sounded good. Like Jen. “Trail run.”

Everything darkened.

“Run,” a low voice from behind her said.

Cora gasped.

“Run now!” it said. It was so real Cora swore she felt hot breath on the back of her neck.

She ran. The sound of crunching leaves and pounding footsteps thudded in Cora’s ears. The scent of pine, maybe the faint hint of a campfire. Senses flooded with images of a lush forest and wooded trail. She found a steady rhythm. Thump, thump.

Then another sound: screams, shrill and piercing.

Cora sped.

“Get away! He’s coming!” a woman yelled.

Terror clenched in Cora’s heart.

What the hell? She strained to look around but saw only the trail. Cracked mud, dry leaves.

“If he gets you he’ll—” the voice trailed. A flailing, muffled chaos of noise throttled Cora’s ears. Screams, breaking branches, ripping fabric.

Oh my God. Cora shut her eyes tight, but it didn’t matter. The attack invaded her ears, her brain. Her very core.

“Hold still, you little—” then a punch. A grunt. Then a panting, frothy mess of sounds Cora didn’t want to hear.

Tears flooded Cora’s eyes as she ran. What else could she do?

The sound of a flat palm against skin. Shredded fabric. Scraping noises. A body against rough tree bark. A plunging sound, fists meeting soft, bruising skin. Sobbing.

She didn’t want to know what she heard. But she knew.

The sound of a body giving up.

Cora ran harder. Maybe there was a way out? This wasn’t real, it was just—awful. Her feet plodded pushing harder. Anything to escape.

The silence that followed was worse than anything she could’ve imagined. Cora quickened, heartbeat speeding to an unsustainable pace. Her muscles clenched, legs ached, but she pushed. Anything to make it stop.

“You’re next,” he yelled. Then he laughed.

Adrenaline spiked, Cora sprinted. Who knows for how long. Tears streamed down her face as she ran for her life. Sweat poured from every pore.

“Your workout has ended,” a voice said. “Prepare for cool-down.” The treadmill hummed and slowed. Cora’s legs trembled and the mechanical arm pushed the base of her back. A wave of nausea passed as Cora transitioned to a stumbling walk. Her heart stung and ached, like it’d burst. She clutched her side, panting.

Jen didn’t tell me the half of it.

“Congratulations. You’ve burned 850 calories,” the voice said.

Cora’s eyes readjusted to the light. The arms clicked open as the treadmill stopped. Her heart raced and sweat poured down her sides, soaking her top. She stepped off the machine and looked around. She dabbed her face and neck with the hem of her sleeve.

Cora caught herself in the full length mirror. She bit down on her lower lip. Her eyes fixated on the contours of her shape..

Once the terror faded, she didn’t look half bad. She wasn’t thinner. No, of course not yet, but something had happened. She wasn’t quite what she wanted to be, but perhaps she was a little better for the effort. Stronger or maybe just tougher. Her face gleamed, flushed from exertion.

Custom workout my ass. I was terrified.

“You look great,” a low voice came from across the room.

Cora looked up and found a man staring at her reflection. He grinned at her with the open-mouthed panting of someone who’d just had the best run of his life. He was ten years older than her, maybe more. A little overweight. His cheeks were dark pink and chest heaving. He adjusted the waist of his pants with one hand and waved at her with the other.

“Works you down to the core, doesn’t it?” he thrummed both hands at his sides. Still staring, still smiling.

Cora tensed at the faintly familiar voice. A sort of better-to-eat you-with smile played on his face. Something about it stuck to her skin. Cora still silent, recalled the man from the woods. She didn’t want it to be true. It couldn’t be.

His expression tightened, and he winked. “I know it’s tough, but you’ll get used to it.”

A Rhysling and Pushcart nominated poet, E.F. Schraeder is author of The Price of a Small Hot Fire (Raw Dog Screaming Press, 2023), What Happened Was Impossible (Ghoulish Books, 2023), and several other works. Schraeder’s creative work and nonfiction has appeared in Mystery Weekly Magazine, Ghoulish Tales, Vastarien: A Literary Journal, and other journals and anthologies. They believe in ghosts, magic, and dogs and hold an advanced degree in Library Science and PhD in ethics.

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