(I Hate) The Whispers
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Tsukasa: All right, that's it. I'm pissed off.
Karen: What's wrong?
Tsukasa: Everyone's a freaking critic. Oooh, Misty's hips are too big, Oooh, Dawn's miniskirt is so slutty. And my least favorite of the bunch: May's breasts.
Karen: Wow… Well, I guess I'm a little annoyed by it as well.
Tsukasa: Well, here's my retaliation. It's not a story, being instead a first person view into May's thoughts over the matter. It's short too, but just to get people to think: if May was real, how would she feel about all this bull about her breasts?
Karen: What made you suddenly want to write about this anyways?
Tsukasa: I was hunting around on Danbooru and found a picture that incited my rage.
Karen: We don't own Pokémon, but we do hate all of you annoying critics out there.
Tsukasa: And I hope that this softens a few hearts to May's plight.
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Why….
Everywhere I look, someone is glaring. From even the darkest of corners, I can hear them whispering about my one flaw.
Every girl in the world wants them, and every man wants their girlfriend to have them. They're even accepted in common society as making a girl more beautiful.
Yet when a girl as young as I have them, it's a crime. A defiance of God himself.
I'm all alone… Why just me?
Damn these sacks of flesh… Why can't I be as flat as Dawn? Why doesn't anyone get on her case for wearing such a slutty miniskirt? And why not attack Misty? She looks even dirtier than Dawn. They're part of it too. They constantly look at me, then whisper in each other's ears about how much of a freak I am. They won't stop talking about me…
To be honest, even my clothes are a little tight. And if they targeted my clothes, I wouldn't mind. In fact, I'd prefer it, since I could just simply change to a new style.
Yet instead…
All they ever nag about, all they ever get mad about, all they ever use to ruin my life…
Are my breasts.
Even the man I look up to has spoken in whispers about my chest, the man I love still gives me awkward looks. The one person who gave me a challenge doesn't speak to me, but instead to an imaginary face behind me, refusing to speak directly to a ten year old with large breasts.
The man I love more than anyone can't look me in the eye, and is surrounded by others who manipulate his opinion of my body by constantly whispering to him of how disturbing my body is.
I'm sick of this. I'm sick of my body being so disgusting, I'm sick of being looked down on, I hate being the mind toy of pedophilic perverts, and I hate the whispers that flow around the truth of my life. Just stop it.
Please… I don't want to suffer anymore… Every night I cry myself to sleep, thinking that I'm just a freak of nature... It's not my fault that I was born this way; I can't walk up to God and ask him to rebirth me with a smaller chest… I just want to die and get past the pain, but I just can't bring myself to do it, to end everything.
I hate the whispers you all spew.
It's not my fault…
Stop talking about me…
It's not my fault!
Please, I'm begging you!
Stop killing me…
Please….