The Next Best Thing (Third place in the Oxford Press Writing Competition 2015.)

Past it

Two days.

The earth has swallowed up a broken doll-girl and become a sticky mess of summery sunshine. It was nourished. The yolk in the sky has started burning fatly for longer, from higher up and targeted the weak and uncovered. They scuttled around; confused chicks and chickens on wobbly stick-legs. Many collapsed. They fell through to sweet unconsciousness.

I sat on a lump of blue that sunk at the weight of me. I was weighed down by the grey mass that had sprung from a seed of fiery hunger in my gut. It had filled my ears with soft, fluttering heartbeats of tiny beings hidden from sight in the murky shadows within my head.

You should be standing. It burns more calories. Every little bit counts.

 

I rose; a flower suddenly springing from a seed. And wilted. My eyes fixed themselves stonily on a spot close to my feet. I focused on the smell of wood polish and books, ignoring the laughter and chatter of bright students darting all around me excitedly like twittering birds; being inside had that impact on them and they were no longer fluttery little helpless chicks.

Walk maybe? Or pick up the bag. The weight will burn calories. Also, the pain it will cause you will be worth it; the feel of exhaustion seeping under your skin and stretching it tight enough to make it strain means you are one more step closer to perfection...

 

I reached out; my mechanic arm popping in exhaustion as it creakily swooped down like a rusty crane and grabbed my bag. My bones creaked. Breath burst from my stinging, badly bitten lips in a shaky gasp and the bag slung itself heavily across my shoulder, becoming enmeshed in my papery skin.

My eyes stung. I stood my ground.

They can watch all they want. They'll be the fat ones.

 

My stomach chose that moment to offer an agonisingly angry growl that felt like a punch from someone with knives growing out of his knuckles. My face blazed bright red. I hung my head and breathed in, holding my breath and focusing on everything happening outside, away from me.

"You're still here?"

I sheepishly dared lift my head and found myself gazing into the kind brown eyes of a lecturer who had never even spoken to me before.

She smiled kindly at me.

I resisted the urge to grit my teeth and made my mouth stretch into a smile instead. I became painfully aware of how I towered over her. My hands were two, huge slabs of meat wrapped around a bulky cloth bag that looked like it was no more than a toy in comparison. My cheeks ballooned out, almost entirely hiding my ears but thankfully somewhat covered by my hair.

A soft whooshing sound attracted my attention. I knew they had walked in without having to turn. He was probably dressed in his smartest suit, her in her best dress and the little gremlin with them dressed in a smart shirt and trousers. I could almost smell the stench of death and the musky smell of tears off them as they strode towards me and I avoided looking up.

"Romeo?" His voice was a rumble, almost robotic as his voice hitched slightly in a throat scraped raw by sobs or wails it had choked up.