Had the world around him really stopped moving, or did it only seem that way? Fellow students walked by him in the courtyard, blissfully wandering off school grounds for the start of the weekend. A few bumped into him. They might have even saisaid hello, but he wouldn't have noticed. His eyes were open but he was not really seeing anything around him. The only noise he could hear was a buzzing in his ears. Were his ears burning? They suddenly felt like they were burning. Now his face felt hot as well.

How could he have been so stupid? Anger, humiliation and fear fought for dominance in his mind as he paced forward slowly down the walkway that ran through the courtyard. Just five minutes ago he had been excited to race down this walkway and toward home to get ready for the night ahead. But now he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the school behind him and hide. Disappear. He couldn't go home now. Not after what he had done. He could forget about what he had planned for the night. If he went home he would be lucky if he even made it back out alive.

Then again, maybe he had dreamt the whole thing. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe he could still imagine a world where he had a future. He had to check. With a shaking hand he pulled his phone out of the pocket of hhis crisp new pair of pre-pre-torn jeanjeans. He had worn them for her today because he knew she liked them. Her. Oh, god. Would she ever talk to him again? Would she ever even look at him again after this?

He unlocked the home screen and went to his text messages, his heart pounding so hard he thought his chest might burst. His thumb shook so aggressively he could barely complete the task. There it was. The end of his life as he knew it. A deep grave he had dug with his own sloppiness and stupidity.

"Hey babe, last night was AMAZING. Better than I ever thought it would be. Can't wait to see ya again tonight. My turn to get condoms. Love ya!!"

Sent to: Mom

“You fat loser. Your big, useless self is taking up enough space as it is. Don’t you dare.”

The villain is back. She is loud this morning. Yesterday she was quieter. Almost made me believe I was in control. But she was just messing with me. She is in control. She was and always will be in control.

I stare down at the bowl of cereal in front of me. I didn’t add any milk. I thought that might be a compromise and please her enough to let me have it. It is just a bit of cereal-one half cup to be exact. 70 calories, at most. Is that really so bad?

“What if you start saying that about everything? Just one sandwich? Just one piece of pizza? Just one cookie? And, then just one more? Then it’s every day? Calories will add up quickly you know and you will ruin everything we have worked for. You dumb bitch.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my head. It feels too heavy-with weight and thoughts-to hold up. In doing so, I realize that my neck aches and I place a hand on it for comfort. My head spins and my heartrate accelerates as I continue to negotiate my first meal of the day. I know I should eat. I know I am being irrational. A human body needs calories to operate just like a car need gas in the tank. I know this. I am a smart woman. And, yet…

“I’m too tired for this.” I think, but of course, she hears.

“Too tired? You slept for a full seven hours last night and you haven’t been to the gym in two days. Other people do way more than you on less sleep. You have no right to be tired. The fact that you just said that is all the more reason why you don’t deserve what’s in that bowl. Just walk away, fat slob.”

The voice is almost audible. It is my voice, of course, but angrier and more hateful than I have ever spoken out loud. I would never direct such insults at anyone else, yet I’ve hurled them at myself so regularly that they’ve attached themselves to me-to my self-worth. They burn and sizzle at my skin like hot coals. The burn hurts at first, but then I like it. It is a reminder that I can overcome hardship. I can withstand the abuse and I am stronger than hunger. It is also proof that I can still feel. I haven’t gone completely numb. Although, wasn’t the numbness part of the initial appeal? I don’t know anymore. Either way, she has won again. I pour the cereal back in the box so as not to waste any food. See? I am a good person. I am okay, right?

“Yes, good girl. Everything will be okay. Good girl.”

Fight or flight is what they say,

Put up your fists or run away,

But, maybe I don't have the strength,

Or stamina to run the length.

Regardless of my brain's intent,

Or the messages my limbs are sent,

My feet become heavy like lead,

And all my senses are rendered dead.

I'm like a snowman frozen in place,

My mind a hardened, empty space.

Cannot move, don't want to think,

Waiting anxiously on the brink.

Staring at the scale her eyes fill with tears,

Tears because, yet again, she has failed,

Failed at controlling herself or anything in her life,

With burning eyes and a hollow pit in her stomach she cannot stop staring.

@Danceinsilence

I involuntarily scofff and roll my eyes as I watch them jump out of the minivan in a hurry. One by one they squeel and wave their hands above their heads in a lame attempt to ward off the misting rain. As they dart the ten feet from the vehicle to the cafe entrance I get the feeling that a little moisture coming in contact with their perfectly constructed hair-do's would truly be the most upsetting thing to happen to any of them today. What a life. I assume the driver of the minivan is one of their parents who will also come back at a moment's notice to pick them up. Door to door service. A personal chauffeur to take each of them home.

Home. That tiny word encompasses an enormously comfortable way of life, yet these girls don't even know it. They will think nothing of crawling into their warm, dry beds tonight. Maybe they will have a snack first, kiss their family members goodnight, pick out their clothes for tomorrow, and plug in their cell phones to charge for the night. They will probably brush their teeth and wash their faces with nice, warm water and creamy facewash. They will do these things automatically, without any appreciation.

I am perched on the curb across the street, gazing in the large window as I observe them sit down in one of the cafe booths. I imagine myself sitting with them, laughing and gossiping about whatever normal teenage girls gossip about. Maybe clothes, boys, or celebrities. Maybe the blonde one has a crush on a football player who already has a girlfriend. Maybe one of the brunettes can't decide on a dress to wear to the school dance. My heart aches as I daydream of a life where such trivial things hold value.

A puddle has formed under my feet and I feel the fallen rain creep into my torn sneakers. The sweatshirt has gotten so wet that it has begun to transfer onto the t-shirt I am wearing underneath. The shirt was acquired years ago from a shelter, but the sweatshirt is new. Well, new to me. The temperature started dropping last week, so I stole a few things from a thrift store a few blocks away. I ducked behind a rack and threw the sweatshirt on before I noticed that it was three sizes to big and smelled of cigarettes. But atleast it was warm. I pick up the plastic bag next to me filled with other treasures I have collected and retreat to the other side of the sidewalk where there is an overhang. It is getting cold as night sets in, but I try to distract myself by returning my attention to the cafe and daydreaming some more.

The dark-skinned girl with straight, beautiful, shiny blank hair appears to be telling a story. The other girls look at her intently and then laugh in unison. I wonder what was so funny, then I am suddenly annoyed at them for having something to laugh about. Here I am, cold, wet, and all alone on the sidewalk at night. I don't think there is anything that could make me laugh right now. Even if I were sitting with them, I'm sure I would not have laughed at whatever was just said. I know too much about that world.

It must be so nice not to have memories of experiences like mine. These girls have been sheltered and loved their whole lives. They have never had to contemplate where they will sleep at night. They never worry about where their next meal will come from. Hell, even if they decide against the abundance of food that is surely on hand at their homes, they can galivant down the street to eat at a cafe. A meal funded by loving parents, no doubt.

The stomach growls as I watch the waitress come over to take their order. I haven't eaten anything since last night, when a kind passerby offered me a granola bar. No doubt, I greatly appreciated the gesture, but it made me feel small. I always feel that way when people show me pity. However, it is better than the alternative. Most people will not even look me in the eye. They just speedwalk by with a peripheral glace. In my mind I concoct the meal that I would order if I were with the girls inside. A hot turkey sandwich with french fries and chicken noodle soup on the side. Once the meal warmed me up I might order a chocolate milkshake for dessert. The ordering process seems to go on for hours, or maybe I am just hungry. Finally, the waitress collects the menus and walks away and the girls immediately go back to talking energetically.

They look like they are having such a good time and suddenly I feel a heated pulse of anger. What have they done to deserve such a life of luxury? What have I done not to? It is not fair that our circumstances can be so starkly different just because of where we were born, or who we were born from. I hate feeling this way. I know jealousy and self-pity will not get me where I want to be. But, sometimes it is so hard not to hate them. Sometimes I dream of hurting them, robbing them, or forcing them to live a day in my shoes. But, this darkness inside scares me. When I feel the envy turning to rage I know I need to leave. I better walk away now before their food comes.

-KK