Application
How long have you been writing?
Only for around a year, as in… really writing, not just because some school assignment required a short story. I’m just starting to really enjoy it. I’d never thought before that forming words and placing them in a particular order on a blank WORD document would be so fascinating.
What is your writing preference?
I mostly do short stories; I think I lack the discipline to write anything longer than 20,000 words - I’m working towards it though! I ventured into poetry a few times, only to find that it’s not quite for me. I’m only poignant when I get a chance to build up to it, but my writing turns lacklustre when it drags too long - thus, short stories is my domain.
Where does your inspiration come from?
Mostly from people around me. Almost everything I write is character-driven; who needs a bloody plot when the hero is the only thing needed to suck someone in? I like making up motives, and when I take the bus I try to observe someone (without looking too stalker-ish) and create a background for them. I suppose that’s also my weak point - the plotlessness of things limit my writing.
Favorite author & why:
It really depends on what category - say, for suspense, I’d choose Stephen King. For something else, like plot, Dan Brown’s not bad (even if his books are all so similar). I’d a brief love affair with Poppy Z. Brite with her vampire stories (I’m still young; I’m allowed to angst once in a while…) and almost horrifically intense description, but I read The Picture of Dorian Grey recently, and I now worship Oscar Wilde. I’m fickle, no?
Are you reading anything at the moment? If so, what?
I just finished reading Daniel Key(e?)’s Flowers for Algernon. It is appallingly well written, and it kind of hurts to read, not only because of the horrendous spelling at the beginning and the end of the book by the main character, Charlie. It hurts to see such genius go to waste, and the Charlie’s internal struggles and torment is just adds salt to my poor bleeding cut. It’s a brilliant book, and I recommend it to anyone who hasn’t read it.
Random likes:
Cereal (<- don’t ask). The crystalline ice that sticks to windows after a cold night. Loud, loud music - somehow, it helps me concentrate. Sparknotes. Having big thick classics on my shelf that I’ve never and probably never will read. Llamas! Shacks. Cappuccinos. Good shading on pictures.
Random Dislikes:
Pepsi. Plants that grow too fast. Citrus fruits. My mouse. Cake. Slush. Stamps. My empty piggy bank. Having my shelves that are laden with big thick classics collapse. Tubas. The colour orange. Badly drawn hands (it’s painful; it really is!).
Name:
Jocelyn. Please call me ‘Celyn or Saoni if it’s not too much to ask. :D
Age:
15. This application was well thought out - age, sex, and name last, instead of first, to rid whatever bias there may have been. Kudos.
Sex:
Femme, last time I bothered to check.
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This is a Harry Potter fanfic concerning anorexia I wrote about a month ago. I’ve posted it all in its 2500 word glory since I don’t think it’s something I can cut short, but I have notes every 500 words showing where one can stop. I’ll consider it a success if you read it all the way through. Enjoy!
(The song included is the same name as the story, and it’s by Manic Street Preachers. A ‘stone’ is around fourteen pounds. If there is any problem with realism, please let me know.)
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4st 7lb
Days since I last pissed
Cheeks sunken and despaired
So gorgeous sunk to six stone
Lose my only remaining home
See my third rib appear
My mother had been dieting since I could remember. ‘I need to drop half a stone,’ she’d declare, and my father would shrug and ignore her because the words had been said so often they had lost all meaning. She starved and binged, making her way around the vicious cycle I would grow to know so well a decade later.
Refusing meals, she carried a flask containing water (no calories!) around with her at all times, drinking from it, denying her hunger despite the obvious growling of her stomach. But then I’d find her downstairs in the middle of the night, stuffing her face with whatever was available - pies, chocolate frogs, pastries... Her pace was astounding; she didn’t seem to chew at all.
I asked her why she was eating now instead of during the day, like normal people. She sent me to bed crying, her shrill voice defensive and harsh.
I gradually learned to ignore her, disregarding her constant prodding of her belly, her thighs, complaining of the flesh hanging there. ‘So ugly,’ she had said every now and then, ‘fat, everywhere. I’m so fat, Lucius, so fat!’ And of course, he’d assure her that she wasn’t, which seemed to be what she wanted to hear. Soon after, however, she’d start again. ‘An inch, Lucius, an inch of lard!’
When I was little, I was never sure of how much she weighed, only that she was bony and her lap was uncomfortable to sit on. Later on, she and I became competitors - who could lose the most weight? Whose ribs stood out the most? I can grab onto my hipbones, mum, can you?
A week later all my flesh disappear
Stretching taut, cling-film on bone
I’m getting better
When I was older, she started to pinch me too. She’d grab onto the flesh on my cheeks, that little bit of childhood pudge, and she’d tell me I was fat, fatter than her. I knew she didn’t mean it - she just wanted that rush of superiority that came with looking down at those lesser than her. I didn’t believe her at all, not at first.
I’d study myself in the mirror, finger my blond hair, touch my stomach, my arms, my cheeks, and inevitably come to the conclusion that I was perfect as I was. I would always trot away happily, not giving another thought to the issue of my weight until mummy’s next remark.
I wanna be so skinny that I rot from view
I want to walk in the snow
And not leave a footprint
I want to walk in the snow
And not soil its purity
Potter was my first taste of rejection - his cold refusal of my friendship stung me, shattered my high and mighty ego to bits. I stood in front of the mirror for hours afterwards, wondering why he would hate me.
Hate? He didn’t hate me. I didn’t know that at the time.
I was an intense child. Whatever I did I had to be best at. Whatever I felt consumed me entirely. I lived for praise, yet I vehemently denied that fact. I took Potter’s ‘no’ as a personal insult.
At first, I thought, ‘he doesn’t want to be my friend. Well, sucks to him. He’s missing out’' Gradually, that thought changed, became warped and poisonous - insidious.
He’s the Boy-Who-Lived, so he must be perfect. Perfect people don’t make mistakes, don’t say the wrong thing, don’t make the wrong decisions... So if he didn’t want to be my friend, there must be something wrong with me.
~~~~~
You can stop now.
~~~~~
My mother then conveniently stepped in and told me that I was ugly, that if I lost a few pounds, I’d be flawless. So I stood in front of the mirror, as I had years ago, and looked at my reflection. Imperfection and defects were all I saw. Short, selfish, glutton! I was disgusted at myself - what had happened to me? How could I have lost control and let myself become this way?
That night I joined mum in pushing my plate away. Father raised a questioning eyebrow but didn’t pursue the matter. He dug in, himself, and his chewing revolted me. How could he stand that stuff making its way down his throat, poisoning him? I felt nauseous.
I wanna be so skinny that I rot from view
School began, and instead of the joy I anticipated, the pride in being Slytherin, I found myself staring across the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table. My jealousy surprised me. I wanted to be adored; I wanted to be Golden Boy! Why did Potter get all that fame, when I was the pureblood, the worthy one?
Quidditch had been my forte throughout my life. My skill in the sport was my pride and joy. Potter bested me in that as well - making it to the team as a seeker in his first year! Father sent me a few dozen howlers. One of them burned me, but I didn’t care - I deserved it.
When the Dueling Club was formed, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to show my superiority. I would show Potter how good I was, the opportunity he missed by refusing my friendship, and therefore me.
I asked him if he was afraid, that first duel, because I was. I was scared out of my wits. My sneer faltered when he said, ‘You wish’, because it was true. I wished he was scared, like I was - I wanted a sign that he was flawed as well. When he started hissing at my snake, the betraying lump in my throat refused to go away. Here was another talent that he possessed; that I lacked. Parseltongue.
Another howler. I burned myself on purpose this time.
I want to walk in the snow
And not leave a footprint
I want to walk in the snow
And not soil its purity
I had one of the Muggle bathroom weights delivered by owl to my dorm, and I came to worship the numbers it showed me. I was exultant when the number shrunk, and livid when it didn’t. I blamed myself, on the bad days - I was the ugly, stupid one, and I couldn’t even succeed in something as simple as refusing nourishment! I hated myself so much more than I ever hated anything or anyone else.
My stomach growled many times and I growled back at it. Colours were brighter, my senses sharper, and I never felt more alive. Why would I give this up for something like food?
~~~~~
And now.
~~~~~
My vision’s getting blurred
But I can see my ribs and I feel fine
My hands are trembling stalks
With the dark circles under my eyes resembling bruises, I knew I looked somewhat like a raccoon, a filthy creature. But that could be concealed - it did not matter. Just a little less, Draco, I told myself, just eat a little less, get down to five stone, and you’ll be perfect.
Vincent told me, once, that he could snap me like a twig if he wanted to. I hexed him, and cast a Glamour Charm on myself. It would last during the day, and under cover of darkness I could revel in my jutting bones.
Mother tries to choke me with roast beef
And sits savouring her sole ryvitta
That’s the way you’re built my father said
I went home for Christmas, like I always did, tearing away the Charm. I knew mother was jealous. She stared at the hollows that were my cheeks, the sharp birdlike bones of my shoulder blades. A little more prominent and maybe I would be able to fly away on them.
For the Christmas banquet, mum didn’t eat a thing, and thought that no one noticed. She was wrong - I noticed, partly because I wasn’t eating either and didn’t have much else to do.
I just sat and looked around, breathing in the scent of the food all around me. I told myself that I was happy with the smell of the stuff, but I know it wasn’t true. Food. The less I ate the more I was obsessed with it. I fantasized about it during the day, and dreamt about it during the night.
However, the more I abstained, the purer I felt. It made me powerful - I couldn’t control the events happening around me, but I could control my body and my urges. I left Malfoy Manor for Hogwarts happy and almost half a stone lighter. I needed to lose just one more stone. Just one more until I was perfection itself.
But I can change, my cocoon shedding
I didn’t need anyone stopping me from my goal, which was the truth - I didn’t need anyone else to stop me.
The night after a Hogsmeade outing during which I withstood temptation, I couldn’t stand it anymore - I wanted food. I needed food. Dazed, with only one thought in my mind, I made my way down to the kitchens. The house elves were startled, but they gave me what I asked for.
I came out of my trance probably an hour later, with grease running down my chin, my treacherous mouth smeared with sugar, with fat. Guilt immediately assaulted me and, filled with dread, I ran up to my dorm, to the bathroom. There, I studied my reflection.
I saw myself puffing up, ballooning, becoming round and bulging. Frantically, I tore off the Glamour Charm. I couldn’t see a difference - I hadn’t changed. If anything, I was worse than before; my belly bloated, my eyes flitting around in an effort to find a back door, a way out of this mess I had gotten myself into.
~~~~~
Now also.
~~~~~
I want to walk in the snow
And not leave a footprint
My gaze came to rest on the toilet.
I want to walk in the snow
And not soil its purity
My throat ached, and a thin line of saliva made a bridge from my two fingers to my lips. I flushed the acidic mess away, and examined my belly again. Much better. But still, some food remained - it was tainting me as the seconds on the clock ticked by so deafeningly.
I was a whirlwind as I flew out onto Hogwarts’ grounds, running, ignoring those I pushed out of my way. Potter’s green eyes worriedly followed me as I flew around the lake. One lap, two laps, three laps-
Floor.
Too weak to fuss, too weak to die
Choice is skeletal in everybody’s life
I choose, my choice, I starve to frenzy
I wake to Pomfrey leaning over me. “And I thought Potter was skinny for his age,” I heard. I was delighted. I was skinnier than Potter. I had finally beaten him in something.
I tried to sit up, and was pushed down again by the nurse. “Mr Malfoy, you are obviously malnourished and entirely too thin for your good. I have a tray for you right here - I don’t know what you’ve been eating normally, but you need some good solid food right now.”
It was then when the cloying sweetness of Honeyduke’s chocolate wafted under my nose. My stomach rumbled, betraying me with its gluttonous desire to sate itself.
“NO!” I yelled, and leapt off of the white sheets. I heard Pomfrey crying out in surprise, but no footsteps of pursuit as I left the Hospital Wing. Good. Due to frenzied hours of exercise, I was in shape and fast - my body had fulfilled my desires in that aspect at least.
I figured out what had happened - I had forgotten to recast the Glamour Charm after purging. No matter, just a small easy spell. I returned to bathroom, which stunk of vomit, snatched up my wand. My hands shook, and I hit them, gritting my teeth. So weak, Draco, you’re so weak, I told myself, no dinner tonight.
Hunger soon passes and sickness soon tires
And I don’t mind the horror that surrounds me
Self-worth scatters, self-esteem’s a bore
I long since moved to a higher plateau
Dumbledore called me to his office the next day, to discuss my ‘situation’. So ignorant, that one. He couldn’t understand that I would give everything to be thin, and that I’d rather die than go above eight stone again.
I took up too much space in the world as is. Yes, I was so hopeless - why not give people like Potter or Granger who actually have a future some breathing room?
So the Headmaster told me I had issues concerning self-confidence or crap like that, and something about self-image. He accused me of being vain. I told him to personally send me to hell for being narcissistic if he could. I thought it was an excellent retort, until he shook his head sadly at me and said that I was already in hell.
~~~~~
Just finish reading it.
~~~~~
That comment was so close to the truth I brooded over it for a time, and I almost downed the pumpkin juice Pansy offered me. I caught myself just in time, and sent my so-called ‘friend’ away crying.
Guilt? No. I didn’t feel guilt. Pansy is an idiot, and Dumbledore is wrong. I enjoyed being emaciated, I enjoyed waking up the morning and waiting a minute or two between each movement so that the waves of dizziness retreated, I enjoyed watching my housemates eat with both disgust and envy.
Oh yes, I enjoyed my exquisitely torturous self-destruction.
This discipline’s so rare so please applaud
Just look at the fat scum who pamper me so
I knew that one day I wouldn’t be able to get up. I skipped most of my classes anyway, since I couldn’t make it past half a flight of stairs. Dumbledore had sent an owl to my parents, I knew. Since father was recently incarcerated because of Potter, mother was the one who sent the Howler this time.
I didn’t care. I refused to let Pomprey near me to heal the burns from the flaming letter. I chose the path, and I continued to walk down it. Suicide? Perhaps. I was strong, stronger than Golden Boy would ever become, stronger than Dumbledore, my father, You-Know-Who, even.
One day, maybe, I’ll even become perfect.
Yeah 4st. 7, an epilogue of youth
Such beautiful dignity in self-abuse
I’ve finally come to understand life
Through staring blankly at my navel.
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Thank you for reading my application. And I apologize if I'm the cause of scrolling cramps... :)