your story to tell
By –another moment gone-
:::-:::
Stare at your reflection, real hard, and keep calling yourself "fat lard!"
You stare long and hard into the mirror, touching the lump on your stomach. You glare at your reflection. Hastily you shove back your long hair and watched your chest rise and fall slowly.
"Dinner time, honey!" Your mother's familiar voice rang you're your ears from down below.
"I'm not hungry! I already ate at Dylan's!" You call back.
"You sure honey?"
You stare once more at your stomach. "Yup."
::
"C'mon, you should eat. Nachos are so good," Claire gushed, care-free and happily munching on the chips. Dylan glanced at Claire then at you, but you pretend not to notice Dylan's beady eyes nervously tracking back at your untouched food.
"I'm not hungry." You dismiss carelessly.
You ignore their once more nervous side-glances as you continue to read your book.
:::-:::
Run faster and faster, make it last longer.
You can hear your heavy breathing as you run your 8th lap around the local track. Everyone minds their own business, but you know deep within their minds that they're thinking something awful must be motivating you.
How right they are.
:::-:::
Glare at the blue in front of you, it will only stick like glue.
"Eat, please."
"I just ate at the gym," you easily say. "Maybe I'll eat later?" For her benefit you allow yourself to take a tiny bite of crackers.
:::-:::
Step on, step off; and hold back that choking cough.
You stare emptily at those blurring numbers.
Over and over again, they dwindle.
:::-:::
Hide the shame real well, only because it just compels.
"Have you noticed something really different about her?" The whispers were increasing.
"Yeah—she seems so much more tired." Another voice replies.
"And skinnier."
But you pretend not to hear. You're still fatter than your friends.
:::-:::
It's your job—just don't let yourself sob.
"Hey we're going to the beach, you wanna come?"
You glance at your stomach quickly and look back up, careful not to meet her eyes.
"Nah, I think I'm going to stay home and work on that history project…"
Her disappointment is evident.
"Okay." She surrenders.
Your eyes water as you watch her walk away.
You watch her shut the door behind her, listening for that little soft click from the door shutting.
You realize your vision is blurring.
You shake your head in anger.
:::-:::
Because this is what you are, because you've gotten this far.
You ignore your friends chewing noises as they eat their food with content smiles on their faces.
You ignore your boyfriend's watchful gaze, a permanent crinkle on his forehead—due to his obvious bewilderment.
A pang in your chest becomes more clear.
:::-:::
Why stop now?
You walk slowly into your bathroom, avoiding your reflection as you slip out of your clothes. You turn the shower nozzle on and already, you can feel the steam rising.
Silently, you slide into the shower, your arms holding what's left of your stomach.
:::-:::
It's not time to bow.
You wash your hair, you shave your legs, you wash your body, you—
Blackness.
All that's left of you is a swirling silent abyss.
A silent surrender that has finally been uncovered.
From that obvious distress that you masked so well,
Comes the story you'll be able to tell.
Review.
-another moment gone-