Song Shots *CLOSED*

Song Shot 3: Little Things (One Direction)

This is a request from @MargauXOXJB1D for Little things (One Direction). Enjoy xx

************************************************************************

Marnie‘s POV

I jabbed a flabby finger at my fat stomach and tears blurred my sight as I poked and prodded my ugly, disgusting body. I am fat.

I am fat.

No wonder I’m the fat loser at school. No one wants to be friends with a walrus. Or an elephant. Or a whale.

It’s also no rocket science to figure out that Mike, the school’s lead singer in the band, hasn’t done more to me than tease, taunt and insult. And other boyfriends or crushes on me? Pah, as if.

Oh, Mike. Why am I not thin and beautiful, maybe I’d be good enough for you then.

Maybe.

No. Probably not.

I pulled my shirt down after a few hours of self-dissing and curled up in a ball, falling asleep though it was still light outside, not bearing to be awake and have the mirror calling to me to depress me, to look at myself.

***************

When I awoke my alarm clock was ringing and I groaned loudly, hitting the snooze button and swinging my legs around the bedside. As my feet hit the ground I was surprised that no earthquake occurred, and I felt more tears threaten to pour over, even though I had woken up mere seconds ago. Wow, that’s a new record.

Fat Marnie. Fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat Marnie.

I showered, careful not to look in that evil, betraying mirror, dressed myself and crept past the kitchen, not daring to look at all the fattening goods that lay there. I swung my schoolbag over my shoulder, called a quick goodbye to my mom and headed off to school, wishing I didn’t have to go. It was just living hell and I wasn’t learning anything anyway, so what was the point? Actually, it’s a dystopia. Wow, Ms. Henders would be proud, as we’re identifying utopias and dysopias in English class. Shool has so many rules that it just basically makes people miserable. Especially me.

Once I got to the grey, dreary building that people called school I threw the books and folders that I needed for the morning in my bag and headed off to homeroom for attendance.

“Marnie Evans! I see perfectly well that you’re here, so answer me!” Mr. Banrick bellowed, snapping me out of my daydreams of seacow-Marnie as I mumbled a quick ‘here’.

After Mr. Barnick had laboriously ticked everyone as present he sent us off to our first class, though he glanced at me angrily and shook his head, tutting in disapproval.

Well, go screw a donkey.

I checked my schedule and internally groaned: Science. I hate science. It’s so… pointless.

Like, why am I supposed to know how to make iron sulphide? I don’t even know what that is, it sounds like a sickness to me! And even worse: Mike was in that class. It was Science where he took his time to destroy my life with his harsh words as he shoots them at me like sharp knives.

And I love him.

I’m so hopeless, I’m crushing on my bully. I guess all the fat in my body messed up my brain or something. Maybe I have a tumor. Than I can die. Whoopee.

I sighed and trudged to class, knowing that Ms. Cambridge flips out if we’re so much as two minutes late and hands out detention like water bottles in the desert. So I ran to class, my body mass flying around me, and only stopped once I was sat in my seat and panting heavily as if I just ran a marathon, and instantly I heard chuckling and sneering behind me. I didn’t even have to turn around.