Hey everyone (anyone who cares to read this). It's been a long time. Too long, maybe. As far as my stories are concerned, I might finish them, but I need to be more motivated first. I feel the best way to do that is to write in small spurts for a while.
This is just something I came up with out of the blue. It's kind of half-prose, half-poetry. It's prosetry. :) Anyway, it's about Addison. Don't ask me why. I wanted to use a background character to express myself.
Anyway, have fun. Reviews are welcome.
[ - ]
"Your bones are sticking out," they say.
She liked to count her ribs and play the saxophone along her sides. Nobody knew this, but there was music in bones.
"You need to eat."
But she liked the feeling of starving. It was pain, which made it real. She felt beautiful when she was hungry. Hunger was the price of beauty.
"Please eat."
She didn't want to. If only they could understand. Didn't they want her to be beautiful?
"We love you."
Then why weren't they listening? Why were they trying to make her eat? Why were they shoveling food down her throat? Why were they holding down her arms and legs, and letting her choke? Why couldn't they allow her to be beautiful?
"You're dying."
Yet she felt so alive.
[ - ]
I identify with this.