Monday, September 16, 2013

2. Going hungry (the girl is still hungry and she still wont die, then she goes outside to see the miracles)


I heard those morning  birds singing and it sounded like they were underwater. They garbled and cooed away in some distant land. I thought of chicken, smothered in cream sauce with mashed potatoes. My stomach rumbled.

 I found some canned beef but I dropped it several times while going for the can opener. I only ever used the hand held ones and so the ordeal was  impossible. I couldn’t open the can for my fingers being so stiff. So, I threw the can instead, into the hallway mirror. The sound was like a thousand pillows falling. I ripped open a bag of chips and proceeded to eat those instead. Proceeded, I might mention, is the keyword.
 
My mouth opened and my jaw popped loudly. I could only get my lips apart enough to cram small broken pieces of the chips  between my lips. I thought of Cookie Monster and how many cookies he wasted; I grew angry at my face. My skin was growing numb and it reminded me of some far away place where they stick needles into your face. I saw visions of faces peering down at me and smiling. Long instruments poked and prodded at my lips then drew away. I tried to open my mouth wider and my jaw popped again. This time, I managed to get a handful of full sized chips into my mouth.

They didn’t taste good at all. In fact, I had no idea how to taste them. They crumbled and cracked between my teeth but they had no texture or form.

Memories flashed through my brain. I saw visions of people eating from bags of chips, talking and drinking things from cans; I was jealous. They laughed at each other from some joke I could not hear. I drew near to them in my vision. I wanted to understand why my food had no taste. I wanted to ask them a question. I saw them turn in my direction and smile. I saw the skin on their faces, the eyes, the lips; they were interesting. I watched the muscles ripple beneath their flesh. My stomach growled. I put the chips in the trash and spit the rest from my mouth.

10:00 am

I stayed in the bathroom for a while just trying to see myself in the mirror. My eyes had not cleared but I could see my face just a bit. My skin was very pale and my eyes were dark all around the sockets. Dark circles like trenches hung beneath my stare. I tried to see my eyes up close. I drew closer and closer but my vision was no better than it was hours before. For one moment, fleeting and confusing, I saw my eyes. They were no longer green like before, they were pale and opaque. I saw that the disease that had stricken my vision was covering my eyes with a milky film. I shook my head and drew away from the mirror. I was horrified by what I saw. I turned away, making my neck creak loudly, then turned back.  I pushed my face to the mirror again.  I had to hold the sink to keep from falling. I grew faint, sickened about  what I had done.

 I was crippled, maimed and probably damaged for the rest of my life. My failed attempt at suicide had turned me into something that resembled a monster. I hated that fact that among all things in life that I had failed at, I also managed to fail at this too. I was truly and undeniably a loser and now the world would know just how pathetic I really was. I knew that I had to call someone, tell someone what I had done. I had to ask someone to help me, maybe reverse the damage. I wasn’t still dying, I was damaged….even more than when I had begun this journey of self destruction.

I walked to the front door, opened it and went out onto the porch. I watched as two people shambled down the road toward my house. One was a man that I didn’t recognize: tall and thin. The other one was Mr. Richards who should have been in his wheelchair. This time he was walking:but not walking very well. He looked up the hill toward where I stood. His looked angry. I was frightened and so I went back inside, shutting my door.  I thought of Owen and remembered that he was supposed to come by this morning. It was almost 8:00 a.m.; Owen would be here in  half an hour. Maybe he would bring me donuts. Suddenly, I grew queasy. My stomach lurched pre-empting a series of dry heaves that put me on my knees. I thought of Owen and wondered if he could help me.

My stomach growled loudly and my boyfriend's face flashed in my memoires. The pictures were scattered and made no sense.

Something was very wrong.

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