(no subject)
sort of a rough draft. the kids won't wake up this morning, and i've got the interwubbs! yay!
she nervously tapped paint-chipped finger nails on the registrar's desk as the moments passed by slower until they almost stood still.
the fat registrar reached over to the desk behind her hulking left arm and shaun could smell the body odor that the woman had failed to mask combined with a sharp whiff of dollar-store style perfume.
two pieces of toast, no butter, fat-free jelly, skim milk- eight ounces.
you're going to be fine.
shut the fuck up you fat, fat cunt. this is all your fault.
the back of her mouth burned and she tongued it impatiently. ring-middle-index-thumb. ring-middle-index-thumb. she calculated the exact number of steps it would take from this vinyl covered green stool with a mid-seat gash exposing it's chunky padding interior to approximately fifty seven feet around the corner of the erroded red-brick building where a bright green rosebush waited.
approximately two hundred, if she wanted to burn the most calories. one hundred and six if the endeavour becomes urgent.
sixteen minutes waiting. twenty seven since ingestion.
hurry-hurry-hurry. it's going to digest.
the appointment couldn't have waited. shaun felt a weak twitch in the corner of her mouth, she could have waited for breakfast just thirty-five more minutes. the giant receptionist motioned with a pen to communicate "sign this paper here." shaun stared at the way the woman's mouth made the fold of her chin move. she did not hear her speak mesmerized with repulsion at the lady's existence. the thought of her eating was making shaun ill.
she noticed a snack cake open on the corner of the desk, little debbie- orange- creme filled, two large bites missing, tipped carelessly on it's side.
she heaved forward. "i have to go."
the receptionist stood to reveal her whole body, draped grotesquely in varying shades of red and maroon in a tent-like church dress with a disturbing pattern. roses twining eachother as if in incestuous lust, roaming widely on the fabric like serpents as if protecting the woman, sanctioning her weight. her face moved again in an, "are you alright?" and shaun found herself running to the door.
fourty seven to the door.
swings open.
three steps to the right.
shaun clamped her right hand over her face, covering her mouth and her nose as if restraining a cough. shaun was completely aware of her seizing abdomen and it's virulent desire to leap from her chest. her left hand pressed three fingers against the skin on her sternum and rubbed forcefully into the bone. the bruise helped distract her.
outside of the door she stiffened her back and felt remarkably dizzy, leaning against the coolness of the rough brick wall. she breathed in deep once and became concious of her back, counting the bones that touched the freezing red brick. she should have worn another shirt.
turning right again, she began to count her paces. maintaining her nonchalant posture and a cool, even gait she walked parallel with the wall dragging her knuckles along it to ensure a calm speed. her purse was bruising the back of her left thigh with it's bouncing.
sixty two, sixty three,
one pen, one 5x5 spiral bound notebook, one small cup stawberry dannon yogurt- 156 spoonfulls- two cigarette breaks- three heaves(throw that away, cow), one wallet, chapstick, small mouthwash, orange flavored tic-tacs, twenty-one pieces sugar-free gum, one condom for exercise,
eighty-one, eighty-two...
she rounded the corner feeling calm as she inventoried further the clothes she was wearing, the piercings she could feel, and running two fingers down the cut in her right thigh- the reason for carrying her purse backwards.
eighty-five, eighty-six
the roses were beautifully in bloom. the violent contrast of the red against it's own green made her feel an eerie calm inside that countered the anxious need to bound at the plant. shaun wanted to wrap her hands around the stems and rip the fucking thing apart, gashing her hands on the fresh thorns, and walking to school the next day with bandaged hands--open/close/open/close-- that stung satisfactorily throughout the day, but she knew she wouldn't.
ninety-seven, ninety-eight
shaun swung her purse off her shoulder in one cavalier swoop and brought the yogurt directly into her skinny right shin. she didn't make a sound as the electric pain burned all the way into the muscles between her furrowed brows.
you deserved that, cow.
a few more steps forward, a few around the bush and shaun rolled up her sleeves and hiked up her skirt in routine preparation. she pushed a hard right against her chin with her left fist, trying to pop the tension out of her neck. it never worked that way, or it would probably be enough, wouldn't it? she wouldn't be here, if anything else was enough, would she?
she would.
one hundred seven, one hundred eight.
fuck, you are so stupid. one hundred eight.
you fucking knew that you fat cow.
shaun nodded to herself and leaned forward.
her dwindling muscle structure braced itself for the violent rack. she widened into a power stance with her feet beneath her shoulder blades and concentrated on the dimples in the uneven colored bricks. she no longer closed her eyes. she pushed her fingers deep into the recess of her concave abdomen. she's present for this time, it's been happening a lot.
let go.
her stomach acid leaves an oddly tinted sheen on the leaves of the growing rosebush. the red flowers get dark, absorbing the bile and beginning to die.
i'm killing them.
shaun straightened up and re-situated her purse, first over the left shoulder and into the right thigh. the hidden angry gash met the carelessly swung yogurt, and her eyes widened briefly. she switched purse shoulders and smoothed down her sleeves.
shirt clean, hair flat, headband on, purse, skirt straight, check.
she frisked her thin body, counting the notches in her ribs, and remapping the placement of her hips before turning around with a deep filling breath.
everything still in order, everything will be fine.
she reached into her purse for her mouthwash and found the cool exterior of a the smooth dannon cup instead. ripping it from the bag, she hurled it towards the wall in one fell motion terminated by a satistfying thud-splatter-plop that felt vicious and clean.
the mouthwash burned, shooting pain into every part of her skin and twisted her face up in grotesque knots. she thought she could feel it in the soles of her feet, but lately her pain spread like wildfire. it was hard to tell where it started. the roof of her mouth was ulcered, but she tried not to think of it, as she spit in the grass.
twenty pieces of gum
she dropped the wrap and stumbled, marveling at the way it caught light against the green of the grass the students hadn't yet trampled in this low traffic spot.
she'd have to sign those papers tomorrow.
she nervously tapped paint-chipped finger nails on the registrar's desk as the moments passed by slower until they almost stood still.
the fat registrar reached over to the desk behind her hulking left arm and shaun could smell the body odor that the woman had failed to mask combined with a sharp whiff of dollar-store style perfume.
two pieces of toast, no butter, fat-free jelly, skim milk- eight ounces.
you're going to be fine.
shut the fuck up you fat, fat cunt. this is all your fault.
the back of her mouth burned and she tongued it impatiently. ring-middle-index-thumb. ring-middle-index-thumb. she calculated the exact number of steps it would take from this vinyl covered green stool with a mid-seat gash exposing it's chunky padding interior to approximately fifty seven feet around the corner of the erroded red-brick building where a bright green rosebush waited.
approximately two hundred, if she wanted to burn the most calories. one hundred and six if the endeavour becomes urgent.
sixteen minutes waiting. twenty seven since ingestion.
hurry-hurry-hurry. it's going to digest.
the appointment couldn't have waited. shaun felt a weak twitch in the corner of her mouth, she could have waited for breakfast just thirty-five more minutes. the giant receptionist motioned with a pen to communicate "sign this paper here." shaun stared at the way the woman's mouth made the fold of her chin move. she did not hear her speak mesmerized with repulsion at the lady's existence. the thought of her eating was making shaun ill.
she noticed a snack cake open on the corner of the desk, little debbie- orange- creme filled, two large bites missing, tipped carelessly on it's side.
she heaved forward. "i have to go."
the receptionist stood to reveal her whole body, draped grotesquely in varying shades of red and maroon in a tent-like church dress with a disturbing pattern. roses twining eachother as if in incestuous lust, roaming widely on the fabric like serpents as if protecting the woman, sanctioning her weight. her face moved again in an, "are you alright?" and shaun found herself running to the door.
fourty seven to the door.
swings open.
three steps to the right.
shaun clamped her right hand over her face, covering her mouth and her nose as if restraining a cough. shaun was completely aware of her seizing abdomen and it's virulent desire to leap from her chest. her left hand pressed three fingers against the skin on her sternum and rubbed forcefully into the bone. the bruise helped distract her.
outside of the door she stiffened her back and felt remarkably dizzy, leaning against the coolness of the rough brick wall. she breathed in deep once and became concious of her back, counting the bones that touched the freezing red brick. she should have worn another shirt.
turning right again, she began to count her paces. maintaining her nonchalant posture and a cool, even gait she walked parallel with the wall dragging her knuckles along it to ensure a calm speed. her purse was bruising the back of her left thigh with it's bouncing.
sixty two, sixty three,
one pen, one 5x5 spiral bound notebook, one small cup stawberry dannon yogurt- 156 spoonfulls- two cigarette breaks- three heaves(throw that away, cow), one wallet, chapstick, small mouthwash, orange flavored tic-tacs, twenty-one pieces sugar-free gum, one condom for exercise,
eighty-one, eighty-two...
she rounded the corner feeling calm as she inventoried further the clothes she was wearing, the piercings she could feel, and running two fingers down the cut in her right thigh- the reason for carrying her purse backwards.
eighty-five, eighty-six
the roses were beautifully in bloom. the violent contrast of the red against it's own green made her feel an eerie calm inside that countered the anxious need to bound at the plant. shaun wanted to wrap her hands around the stems and rip the fucking thing apart, gashing her hands on the fresh thorns, and walking to school the next day with bandaged hands--open/close/open/close-- that stung satisfactorily throughout the day, but she knew she wouldn't.
ninety-seven, ninety-eight
shaun swung her purse off her shoulder in one cavalier swoop and brought the yogurt directly into her skinny right shin. she didn't make a sound as the electric pain burned all the way into the muscles between her furrowed brows.
you deserved that, cow.
a few more steps forward, a few around the bush and shaun rolled up her sleeves and hiked up her skirt in routine preparation. she pushed a hard right against her chin with her left fist, trying to pop the tension out of her neck. it never worked that way, or it would probably be enough, wouldn't it? she wouldn't be here, if anything else was enough, would she?
she would.
one hundred seven, one hundred eight.
fuck, you are so stupid. one hundred eight.
you fucking knew that you fat cow.
shaun nodded to herself and leaned forward.
her dwindling muscle structure braced itself for the violent rack. she widened into a power stance with her feet beneath her shoulder blades and concentrated on the dimples in the uneven colored bricks. she no longer closed her eyes. she pushed her fingers deep into the recess of her concave abdomen. she's present for this time, it's been happening a lot.
let go.
her stomach acid leaves an oddly tinted sheen on the leaves of the growing rosebush. the red flowers get dark, absorbing the bile and beginning to die.
i'm killing them.
shaun straightened up and re-situated her purse, first over the left shoulder and into the right thigh. the hidden angry gash met the carelessly swung yogurt, and her eyes widened briefly. she switched purse shoulders and smoothed down her sleeves.
shirt clean, hair flat, headband on, purse, skirt straight, check.
she frisked her thin body, counting the notches in her ribs, and remapping the placement of her hips before turning around with a deep filling breath.
everything still in order, everything will be fine.
she reached into her purse for her mouthwash and found the cool exterior of a the smooth dannon cup instead. ripping it from the bag, she hurled it towards the wall in one fell motion terminated by a satistfying thud-splatter-plop that felt vicious and clean.
the mouthwash burned, shooting pain into every part of her skin and twisted her face up in grotesque knots. she thought she could feel it in the soles of her feet, but lately her pain spread like wildfire. it was hard to tell where it started. the roof of her mouth was ulcered, but she tried not to think of it, as she spit in the grass.
twenty pieces of gum
she dropped the wrap and stumbled, marveling at the way it caught light against the green of the grass the students hadn't yet trampled in this low traffic spot.
she'd have to sign those papers tomorrow.