Status: revising and reposting. new chapters out every few days.
Dying to be Thin
Nine.
Dad and I fight,
About nothing at all.
It seems I can’t go anywhere without screaming,
And yelling,
And anger,
Pouring out of everyone.
It lasts for what seems like hours,
Until I’m blue in the face,
And Dad’s neck vein is swollen and pulsing.
Kaleb just sits on the couch,
Playing Modern Warfare 2,
Everyone is always fighting someone.
Dad yells at me as bombs drop on the television,
Kaleb whoops in triumph as he shoots a man down.
Shut the fuck up, fatty!
We don’t want you!
We don’t need you,
You fucking obese son of a bitch!
Ana screams at him,
Trying to hurl her insults,
Out of my mouth.
Her voice is too loud,
And my head is too small.
Hot tears spring up in the corners of my eyes,
But Dad isn’t going to win that easily.
Machine guns are rattling the television screen,
Kaleb is jamming his fingers too hard into the controller,
It’s going to fall apart,
If he keeps applying pressure like that.
Dad is in my face,
Are you even listening!?
Fuck you!
Ana’s screech,
Almost fires out of my voice box.
Kaleb turns the volume up on the television,
Trying to block out our war in favor of his own.
My muscles are shattering,
My stomach is twisting,
My eyes are popping,
My ears are ringing,
My throat is constricting.
I scream.
Dad walks away,
Throwing his hands in surrender,
And probably hate.
Kaleb groans as his player is stabbed in the back.
I run to the bathroom,
The sound of the door slamming,
Echoes in the house.
Tears stream,
I can’t contain them anymore.
My sobs are cut off continuously,
By my hacking cough.
My throat feels raw,
It might be bleeding.
I wrench the shower curtain open,
Turning the water on as high as possible,
Masking all other sounds in the bathroom.
I lean over the toilet and watch,
As the two cookies and five strawberries,
I ate before the battle broke out,
Race to exit my stomach.
I flush the toilet,
Splash water on my face.
We’re losing him! We’re losing him!
Someone yells in my little brother’s game,
His fingers are slamming the buttons even harder.
I shut off the shower,
Wrapping my dry hair in a towel,
In order to keep the façade,
In perfect working order.
I make it to my bedroom,
Before collapsing,
Utterly drained of the energy,
That sustained me during the brawl.
And I cry.
And cry.
And cry.
We lost him.
Kaleb’s game cuts through my pain,
He throws the controller on the floor,
Stomping his way to his room.
They’re losing you. I’m winning.
Ana informs me,
Smug as ever.
Kaleb’s game is still playing in the living room.
I know.
I respond,
Crying harder still.
About nothing at all.
It seems I can’t go anywhere without screaming,
And yelling,
And anger,
Pouring out of everyone.
It lasts for what seems like hours,
Until I’m blue in the face,
And Dad’s neck vein is swollen and pulsing.
Kaleb just sits on the couch,
Playing Modern Warfare 2,
Everyone is always fighting someone.
Dad yells at me as bombs drop on the television,
Kaleb whoops in triumph as he shoots a man down.
Shut the fuck up, fatty!
We don’t want you!
We don’t need you,
You fucking obese son of a bitch!
Ana screams at him,
Trying to hurl her insults,
Out of my mouth.
Her voice is too loud,
And my head is too small.
Hot tears spring up in the corners of my eyes,
But Dad isn’t going to win that easily.
Machine guns are rattling the television screen,
Kaleb is jamming his fingers too hard into the controller,
It’s going to fall apart,
If he keeps applying pressure like that.
Dad is in my face,
Are you even listening!?
Fuck you!
Ana’s screech,
Almost fires out of my voice box.
Kaleb turns the volume up on the television,
Trying to block out our war in favor of his own.
My muscles are shattering,
My stomach is twisting,
My eyes are popping,
My ears are ringing,
My throat is constricting.
I scream.
Dad walks away,
Throwing his hands in surrender,
And probably hate.
Kaleb groans as his player is stabbed in the back.
I run to the bathroom,
The sound of the door slamming,
Echoes in the house.
Tears stream,
I can’t contain them anymore.
My sobs are cut off continuously,
By my hacking cough.
My throat feels raw,
It might be bleeding.
I wrench the shower curtain open,
Turning the water on as high as possible,
Masking all other sounds in the bathroom.
I lean over the toilet and watch,
As the two cookies and five strawberries,
I ate before the battle broke out,
Race to exit my stomach.
I flush the toilet,
Splash water on my face.
We’re losing him! We’re losing him!
Someone yells in my little brother’s game,
His fingers are slamming the buttons even harder.
I shut off the shower,
Wrapping my dry hair in a towel,
In order to keep the façade,
In perfect working order.
I make it to my bedroom,
Before collapsing,
Utterly drained of the energy,
That sustained me during the brawl.
And I cry.
And cry.
And cry.
We lost him.
Kaleb’s game cuts through my pain,
He throws the controller on the floor,
Stomping his way to his room.
They’re losing you. I’m winning.
Ana informs me,
Smug as ever.
Kaleb’s game is still playing in the living room.
I know.
I respond,
Crying harder still.