Writing Prompt #120 “Collage 4”

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It’s 11:55.  Almost lunch.  The clock ticks, the minute hand clunks into place.  11:56.  Maybe soup.  Maybe sandwich.  Maybe the leftovers,  no those are gone.  The empty container sits like tombstone on the counter.

Emily looks at her stomach.  It betrays her.  It hangs over her pants.   The constant turning of her nerves.  She has always been oversized.  People have always placated her, with platitudes.  They lie to make her feel better.  Fat is fat.  The mirror never lies.  It’s on her waist.  It’s covering her legs like a worn out pair of pants.  Her arms flap in the breeze.  Fat stretched the skin. Fat, fat, fat..

Noon.  Three pieces of cheese ripped out of the fridge.  Thrown on a plate to be stared at.  Hated for being so good.  It’s was pure fat.  But so was she.  It was a moment of pleasure, swallowed by guilt.  She looked at the end table.  The locket of her mother’s looking at her.  The kid picture when she was normal hides inside.  

Outside a ruckus cries through the window.  She gets up to see a rain crow raising the dead.  It’s cries hurt the ears.  Her soul has had too much pain, the ears will have to bleed another day.  On the way back is the scales of her justice.  Her three meals weigh on her heavily.  She drops her head and approaches the bathroom scale.  The numbers flash digital hell as 123 stares back in its horrible red eyes.  Cut to a crouch, hands on her head, and elbows resting on her knees.  The tears fall silently.  An unseen dust cloud swirls where it lands.

“Why must I be so fat?!”  Her torture continues. 

14 thoughts on “Writing Prompt #120 “Collage 4”

      1. I’ve had my share of girlfriends abd wuth my wife. The amount of time worrying is wasted life. Happy is important, weight changes daily. Some woman look better with a shape rather than skin and bones

        Liked by 1 person

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