Short story by me!
Here's a random story i wrote a while ago, and i hope it inspires sum of u... dont worry if you cant be bothered reading it cause its too long, i mean i could bearly be bothered to rite it all!!
Ever played the game what if?
What if this had never happened to me? What if my life didn’t mess up so bad? What if I had been born a completely different person? I’m pondering over such questions, and more what ifs. What if I died right now? All eyes are fixed on me, piercing my forehead, my back, my sides, but I can’t make my eyes fall into theirs. I can’t even give them a fleeting look, or I may become blind. I see nothing but my worst fear, but I feel everything around me. The dull, spacious dining room is suffocating to my thoughts, and with a whole family in there too? I can hardly breath. The single light appears to be honing in on me, it does not care that it is only drawing the attention deeper into me, or that I don’t want to be highlighted, or that I hate the light for doing so, it doesn’t care at all. The pathetic, diminutive window sheds no hope for me. It offers no escape, no way out, it just clings to the sharp walls, it probably watched me suffer in the past, and now more than ever.
Mum, dad, Heather, Johnny and even Spike seem to be finding it hard to breath too. It’s like they are one person, if I flinch so do they, if I shudder they do too, and although they are mimicking my every movement (which are very subtle and hardly there) they can never feel what I feel. With every second the walls are closing in on me and my awaiting audience, and every second becomes more and more painful to endure. Mum I feel, has tears of deepest anticipation, and is standing at my side trying to give as much silent support as possible. Dad is distant, looking at the roof, the walls, the floor, (bare, pale yellow plaster seems to have become suddenly very interesting to him). Heather and Johnny are there too, and waves of worry are pressing hard into my back. Heather has her hand on Johnny’s shoulder, this has been really hard for the young siblings. Spike is drooling uncontrollably, but being part of the family he joins in their silence. What if none of them were here in this room? Would it be any easier? I guess I’ll never know, but intense stares from all direction (including those from a drooling dog) aren’t exactly helping.
It’s becoming stifling here, and yet it’s raining outside, pelting hard on the tin roof. The whole atmosphere seems to be against me. And then I realize why, every soul in this shrinking, pale yellow room is waiting for me to overcome my fear. They’ve been waiting for seven years, and every minute that I have put them through has built up to this one, life changing moment. But in my opinion life changing moments are supposed to exactly that, a moment! A very quick instant that passes momentarily. This is apparently not so. Time has stood still for me, or at least it is dragging the second hand along as slowly as possible. It gives the impression that it wants me to suffer, because I have put this whole house under stress by my very existence, since I was eleven years old. What if I could turn back time? Then I would never have looked in the mirror on my eleventh birthday, and never thought, “Look at my pudgy face, and my legs, and my stomach, and where did these hips come from? I hate them all…” If I had never looked in the mirror that day, I would never have been able to criticize myself the way I did, and would be enjoying life right now I’m sure.
But I’m sick of that stupid ‘what if’ game, it’s immature to contemplate such questions, it really is. I am where I am, at this moment (the longest moment of my life) and I have to build a bridge, get over it, and maybe I will be able to see rainbows again, and notice the swell things in life again. I’m still looking at my worst fear, the one daunting thing in my life. A bowl of terrifying cornflakes.
I plunge my dusty spoon into the now very soggy flakes and milk, making the first official move. I tense, and what do you know? My family tenses up too, so does the pathetic window, the walls, the floor, and even the light. “Just breath, I can do this. Come on Cat! Do this already! Raise the spoon, wait for the drips to stop…” Great, no one in this room is breathing, they have all officially lost the power to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide, more suspense is what I really need. I lift the spoon closer to my mouth, the mush is getting closer to my dry lips, soon it will be all over, and my family will cheer, the dog will go psycho and I will finish the whole bowl of cornflakes. What if they were covered in sugar? Surely it would be easier. No, stop, don’t! The spoon is puling downward towards the cracked, blue bowl. Stop! I’m ready! I can’t fail again… and the spoon hits the cornflakes.
I look around, what for I wonder? Sympathy maybe, or perhaps I want to be blind, yes that sounds like my life ambition, look into the family’s eyes and blind myself. One day I hope to fulfill such a dream, then I will never have to look into those eyes again. But I find no sympathy, nor a pair eyes. They are all avoiding me, like they’re ashamed. They should be. Mum is biting her nails again, she does so every time she’s under major stress, dad has clenched his fisted, they are blue, and getting tighter. Heather has her arm around Johnny, she’s knows it’s been hard for him to see his oldest sister sick, and his second oldest scared all the time. Spike is whining quietly, adding the perfect sound affects to this damaged scene.
“What is wrong with you…” dad asks this startling question through gritting teeth, but it’s more like a statement. Everyone edges forward straining to hear what he said. I can’t answer. “What is wrong with you?” more loudly this time, and it does sound like a question. Before I can answer, although I didn’t think I was going to at all he says, “Catherine, do you enjoy putting your family through pain? We are all affected, you know it.” I look at him through deep eyes, trying to understand him. He speaks slowly, every word penetrating my heart, “You can end it all by putting…” his voice raises louder and louder, “the stupid spoon in your ****ing mouth!” Everyone tenses, probably because I do.
“Honey, stop. It’s tough on her,” mum tries to stand up for me, but she’s too undecided about the situation to put up even a slightly strong fight. No one says anything for what seems like forever.
I eventually can’t stand the overwhelming silence, “Please, say something?”
“What do you want us to say?” asks dad, straining to keep the anger down, “You said today would be the day, it would all happen today! You promised that that spoon wouldn’t touch the cornflakes if you weren’t absolutely ready, and it did,” his raising louder still, “you got our hopes up, again, for nothing!”
“Darling, please! Cat, why can’t you do it?” questions mum sensitively, trying to calm her husband.
“I, don’t, know,” I stutter, tears gushing to my eyes, straight from my heart.
“You want to know why she can’t do a simple task like eating? Because she’s not trying hard enough! She reckons it’s ****ing ok to be, like that!” he talks like I’m not in the room, but I am, I hear every word.
“No!” I cry, “It’s not like that! I know it’s not ok…”
“Then why the hell aren’t you making an effort!” he states, more than asks.
I spill on to the hard, creaking table. I have no strength to argue, no strength to sit up straight. I knock over the bowl of untouched cornflakes. Why me? Unstoppable are my tears of aggravation, anger and agony, and the more these tears leave my fragile body, more hope drains out too.
I sit on my plain bed cover, slightly sinking into the ancient mattress. I go there looking for a place of sanctuary, a cozy place to rest my body and mind. But I enter in to no such situation, more like a follow on of the rest of the house, pale yellow creaking walls, and nothing of slightest interest. I assemble myself facing the grand window, draped with purple curtains, shimmering in the afternoon sun, which has miraculously appeared. I can’t stop my mind wafting back to the thought of my dad’s face when I let the spoon fall into the cornflakes, his frustration with me had hit it’s highest point yet.
There’s a soft knock on the door, I pray it’s not mum or dad, I can’t stand to see their solemn faces bleeding with disappointment. I don’t move. I don’t say come in. I don’t say go away. I just continue to stare at the purple curtains, quivering in the warm breeze. Heather enters quietly, and I feel her piercing stare soften as her eyes lay on my mattered hair. She cautiously sits behind me, and I feel the prehistoric mattress shudder slightly.
“What’s it like?” Heather asks soothingly, but I don’t answer. What am I supposed to say? Oh it’s a joyful journey to hospitals, and institutes, and shrinks who don’t give a damn ‘bout their patients, and only care about their glorious pay cheque. Heather is awaiting my answer patiently, and I can’t
stand the silence any more.
“Huh? What’s what like?” but I know exactly what she’s talking about, I can tell she’s been holding in the question for a long time, waiting for the right moment. But I guess she wanted to ask such a question without using the actual word. But she uses it when she asks again.
“What’s the anorexia like?” heather says it with a bit more confidence in her voice, but I shudder at the sound of it. What is it like. I think about not answering, because I don’t know how. But I realize that it took a lot of courage out of my 14 year old little sister, and after she’s been waiting for the right moment for so long… What do I say? What s the nicest way you can explain that sport is not an option anymore, and hospital beds are where I live mostly, and the pressure is almost too much to bear, to a 14 year old?
I decide to give a very true, thoughtful answer, “It’s a block in my life, a real pain in the bum,” still staring at the purple curtains, thinking about the cornflakes.
Ever played the game what if?
What if this had never happened to me? What if my life didn’t mess up so bad? What if I had been born a completely different person? I’m pondering over such questions, and more what ifs. What if I died right now? All eyes are fixed on me, piercing my forehead, my back, my sides, but I can’t make my eyes fall into theirs. I can’t even give them a fleeting look, or I may become blind. I see nothing but my worst fear, but I feel everything around me. The dull, spacious dining room is suffocating to my thoughts, and with a whole family in there too? I can hardly breath. The single light appears to be honing in on me, it does not care that it is only drawing the attention deeper into me, or that I don’t want to be highlighted, or that I hate the light for doing so, it doesn’t care at all. The pathetic, diminutive window sheds no hope for me. It offers no escape, no way out, it just clings to the sharp walls, it probably watched me suffer in the past, and now more than ever.
Mum, dad, Heather, Johnny and even Spike seem to be finding it hard to breath too. It’s like they are one person, if I flinch so do they, if I shudder they do too, and although they are mimicking my every movement (which are very subtle and hardly there) they can never feel what I feel. With every second the walls are closing in on me and my awaiting audience, and every second becomes more and more painful to endure. Mum I feel, has tears of deepest anticipation, and is standing at my side trying to give as much silent support as possible. Dad is distant, looking at the roof, the walls, the floor, (bare, pale yellow plaster seems to have become suddenly very interesting to him). Heather and Johnny are there too, and waves of worry are pressing hard into my back. Heather has her hand on Johnny’s shoulder, this has been really hard for the young siblings. Spike is drooling uncontrollably, but being part of the family he joins in their silence. What if none of them were here in this room? Would it be any easier? I guess I’ll never know, but intense stares from all direction (including those from a drooling dog) aren’t exactly helping.
It’s becoming stifling here, and yet it’s raining outside, pelting hard on the tin roof. The whole atmosphere seems to be against me. And then I realize why, every soul in this shrinking, pale yellow room is waiting for me to overcome my fear. They’ve been waiting for seven years, and every minute that I have put them through has built up to this one, life changing moment. But in my opinion life changing moments are supposed to exactly that, a moment! A very quick instant that passes momentarily. This is apparently not so. Time has stood still for me, or at least it is dragging the second hand along as slowly as possible. It gives the impression that it wants me to suffer, because I have put this whole house under stress by my very existence, since I was eleven years old. What if I could turn back time? Then I would never have looked in the mirror on my eleventh birthday, and never thought, “Look at my pudgy face, and my legs, and my stomach, and where did these hips come from? I hate them all…” If I had never looked in the mirror that day, I would never have been able to criticize myself the way I did, and would be enjoying life right now I’m sure.
But I’m sick of that stupid ‘what if’ game, it’s immature to contemplate such questions, it really is. I am where I am, at this moment (the longest moment of my life) and I have to build a bridge, get over it, and maybe I will be able to see rainbows again, and notice the swell things in life again. I’m still looking at my worst fear, the one daunting thing in my life. A bowl of terrifying cornflakes.
I plunge my dusty spoon into the now very soggy flakes and milk, making the first official move. I tense, and what do you know? My family tenses up too, so does the pathetic window, the walls, the floor, and even the light. “Just breath, I can do this. Come on Cat! Do this already! Raise the spoon, wait for the drips to stop…” Great, no one in this room is breathing, they have all officially lost the power to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide, more suspense is what I really need. I lift the spoon closer to my mouth, the mush is getting closer to my dry lips, soon it will be all over, and my family will cheer, the dog will go psycho and I will finish the whole bowl of cornflakes. What if they were covered in sugar? Surely it would be easier. No, stop, don’t! The spoon is puling downward towards the cracked, blue bowl. Stop! I’m ready! I can’t fail again… and the spoon hits the cornflakes.
I look around, what for I wonder? Sympathy maybe, or perhaps I want to be blind, yes that sounds like my life ambition, look into the family’s eyes and blind myself. One day I hope to fulfill such a dream, then I will never have to look into those eyes again. But I find no sympathy, nor a pair eyes. They are all avoiding me, like they’re ashamed. They should be. Mum is biting her nails again, she does so every time she’s under major stress, dad has clenched his fisted, they are blue, and getting tighter. Heather has her arm around Johnny, she’s knows it’s been hard for him to see his oldest sister sick, and his second oldest scared all the time. Spike is whining quietly, adding the perfect sound affects to this damaged scene.
“What is wrong with you…” dad asks this startling question through gritting teeth, but it’s more like a statement. Everyone edges forward straining to hear what he said. I can’t answer. “What is wrong with you?” more loudly this time, and it does sound like a question. Before I can answer, although I didn’t think I was going to at all he says, “Catherine, do you enjoy putting your family through pain? We are all affected, you know it.” I look at him through deep eyes, trying to understand him. He speaks slowly, every word penetrating my heart, “You can end it all by putting…” his voice raises louder and louder, “the stupid spoon in your ****ing mouth!” Everyone tenses, probably because I do.
“Honey, stop. It’s tough on her,” mum tries to stand up for me, but she’s too undecided about the situation to put up even a slightly strong fight. No one says anything for what seems like forever.
I eventually can’t stand the overwhelming silence, “Please, say something?”
“What do you want us to say?” asks dad, straining to keep the anger down, “You said today would be the day, it would all happen today! You promised that that spoon wouldn’t touch the cornflakes if you weren’t absolutely ready, and it did,” his raising louder still, “you got our hopes up, again, for nothing!”
“Darling, please! Cat, why can’t you do it?” questions mum sensitively, trying to calm her husband.
“I, don’t, know,” I stutter, tears gushing to my eyes, straight from my heart.
“You want to know why she can’t do a simple task like eating? Because she’s not trying hard enough! She reckons it’s ****ing ok to be, like that!” he talks like I’m not in the room, but I am, I hear every word.
“No!” I cry, “It’s not like that! I know it’s not ok…”
“Then why the hell aren’t you making an effort!” he states, more than asks.
I spill on to the hard, creaking table. I have no strength to argue, no strength to sit up straight. I knock over the bowl of untouched cornflakes. Why me? Unstoppable are my tears of aggravation, anger and agony, and the more these tears leave my fragile body, more hope drains out too.
I sit on my plain bed cover, slightly sinking into the ancient mattress. I go there looking for a place of sanctuary, a cozy place to rest my body and mind. But I enter in to no such situation, more like a follow on of the rest of the house, pale yellow creaking walls, and nothing of slightest interest. I assemble myself facing the grand window, draped with purple curtains, shimmering in the afternoon sun, which has miraculously appeared. I can’t stop my mind wafting back to the thought of my dad’s face when I let the spoon fall into the cornflakes, his frustration with me had hit it’s highest point yet.
There’s a soft knock on the door, I pray it’s not mum or dad, I can’t stand to see their solemn faces bleeding with disappointment. I don’t move. I don’t say come in. I don’t say go away. I just continue to stare at the purple curtains, quivering in the warm breeze. Heather enters quietly, and I feel her piercing stare soften as her eyes lay on my mattered hair. She cautiously sits behind me, and I feel the prehistoric mattress shudder slightly.
“What’s it like?” Heather asks soothingly, but I don’t answer. What am I supposed to say? Oh it’s a joyful journey to hospitals, and institutes, and shrinks who don’t give a damn ‘bout their patients, and only care about their glorious pay cheque. Heather is awaiting my answer patiently, and I can’t
stand the silence any more.
“Huh? What’s what like?” but I know exactly what she’s talking about, I can tell she’s been holding in the question for a long time, waiting for the right moment. But I guess she wanted to ask such a question without using the actual word. But she uses it when she asks again.
“What’s the anorexia like?” heather says it with a bit more confidence in her voice, but I shudder at the sound of it. What is it like. I think about not answering, because I don’t know how. But I realize that it took a lot of courage out of my 14 year old little sister, and after she’s been waiting for the right moment for so long… What do I say? What s the nicest way you can explain that sport is not an option anymore, and hospital beds are where I live mostly, and the pressure is almost too much to bear, to a 14 year old?
I decide to give a very true, thoughtful answer, “It’s a block in my life, a real pain in the bum,” still staring at the purple curtains, thinking about the cornflakes.