Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: fiction, flash fiction, sci fi, short story
things could be worse- my sister could have been abducted by aliens!
I never tried to be as pretty as her. I let her be the one the grown-ups loved, and later I let her be the one who fit in, and the one who got good grades. I was the weird one, the quiet kid, and I was okay with that. To be honest, I barely even though about it. I was off lost in worlds of my own, dreaming.
I never bothered trying to catch up with her, my smart, pretty, popular little sister. I did my own thing. I played a lot of video games. I read all the Isaac Asimov I could get my hands on. I had a subscription to a magazine of science fiction short stories and I waited for it every month and every month I was abducted over new horizons of weirdness. I dreamed of narrow escapes from black holes and alien overlords. I dreamed and dreamed and if I wasn’t pretty or successful or popular I barely even noticed it.
Then Chrissy was abducted by aliens. Now everyone asks if I’m okay, and all her friends have started inviting me places and asking me to parties, and even my grades have gotten better. But you know what? I think it sucks. The aliens were the only thing I ever chose, and even they just wanted me pretty, perfect, stupid, little sister.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: easter island, fiction, flash fiction, humour, short story
things could be worse, right? i mean, i could be the idiot in charge of cutting down the island’s last tree.
Alright, boys. Here we are. Gotta have wood to haul them big giant heads down to the shoreline.
Now, I know there’s been talk, what with these being the last few trees on the island. There’s been some grumbling and I’m here to personally address your concerns and make sure you know that the chief understands your feelings. I’ve heard that some people have questioned the utility of making so many big giant heads, since we already have so many, and since we need wood to make fire, and we need fire to live. Now, and this is the chief talking not me, the chief says that the reason we have so many problems on this island isn’t the lack of trees, it’s insufficent respect to the gods. He wanted me to tell all of you that cutting down this last little stand of trees in service to the gods is sure to impress them and we’ll all be rewarded and the island will be prosperous again, no problem. So, that should put your fears to rest on that score.
Now, also I’ve heard that some people say we should use this last little bit of wood to build boats, and then go see if we can find a different island. One that still has trees or what have you. But the chief says our ancestors passed down word that no expedition has ever found any other islands. So just forget about that idea. He says the gods will provide, and I’m sorry fellas but if you got a problem with the orders then you just better take it up with the chief. I mean, I wouldn’t if I were you, not if I wanted to keep my head attached, but if this whole tree cutting business bothers you, well, the buck stops with him.
We clear? Okie dokie then. Let’s get to work!
things could be worse if my tears all turned into diamonds.
Everything I have, my house with all its rooms, my cars, my clothes, my stable of horses, all of it was bought with money I got from selling the diamonds that form on my cheeks when my tears harden and dry. Each new purchase is a signal to the world that I’ve been crying and nothing I buy, no amount of trips round the world, no new entertainment or diversion seems to stop me.
My parents never told me to control my tears. No one wants to risk the goose that lays the golden eggs! I emancipated from them at the age of 10. I had a source of income, afterall, and it was an easy enough argument to tell a judge they were taking advantage of my condition. Or perhaps my lawyers bribed him with my tears, like I bribed them to help free me from my parents. They seemed surprised when once the emancipation was accomplished I wanted no more to do with them or their firm. Ever since then this goose gets to choose who her golden eggs will make wealthy.
Most of the time I cannot go out in public. A storm of tears might overtake me and a mob of greedy diamond-seekers would arise to grab at my face for the tears to make them rich. I give away as much as I can, to friends and to charity, even though it makes me cry when I think of the happiness my tears are bringing others.
There is one thing in this world I do enjoy. That one true pleasure is the opera. I go out to the opera decked out in diamonds from head to toe and I sit in my box and the people below look up and whisper to one another. For a time I’m part of the show. Then the music starts, and it takes me away with it.
Filed under: anorexia, bulimia, eating disorder recovery, eating disorders | Tags: anorexia, bulimia, eating disorder recovery, eating disorder treatment, eating disorders
ok, so my ed is going seriously haywire again. what did i expect, i’d decide to enter recovery, take a couple of little positive steps, and all of a sudden a snowball of happiness would be my reward? puh-lease. it wasn’t gonna happen and i knew at the time i needed to step things up a lot or any positive gains would melt away like they were never really there in the first place.
so the only thing i can take from both my recent downward spiral and the lovely comments from people who don’t like seeing it continue is that i need to keep writing (both my stories and my mental state good, bad, or ugly though it may be), i need to keep hoping and caring what happens to me, and i need to try and remember that my experience with these things is that although what goes up must come down, what goes down is likely to come back up if i stick with it.
no change today, behaviorwise. but maybe tomorrow i’ll write more about the possibility i raised with my parents of entering treatment, and for now i’m just keeping the idea of recovery alive even if the actions towards recovery haven’t been up to snuff lately.
things could be worse if my soul was trapped in the lens of a camera.
they all said i had to try this one photographer for my portfolio. “She’s amazing, darling. She really captures the essence of her subjects.”
captures the essence.
she clipped me up in her darkroom, with all her other trophies. she took me down and had me with her, tucked away in her pocket when she showed the shots to my agent and the 3 dimensional ghost that now goes around in my body. my agent was all compliments and jollity while the ghost girl said next to nothing. for a moment i wondered why no one had noticed any difference in me, before remembering.
the photographer keeps us all together. she talks to us and tells us about all the fame and fortune our ghost selves are encountering. “It’s just what you always wanted, darling.” she’ll tell me “Such a pity you can’t be there to see it. But I really think you were holding your body back. A soul can be such an encumbrance in this business.”
Filed under: anorexia, bulimia, eating disorder recovery, eating disorders, overeaters anonymous | Tags: anorexia, bulimia, eating disorder recovery, eating disorders, overeaters anonymous, pro-ana, proana
i just feel totally taken over by my disorder lately. just lost in it like there’s nothing else there. i barely even care about losing weight, but i’m losing.
the conversation with the parents didn’t help i think. it’s like an excuse, a chance to put my wellbeing on someone else and not care about it for a while. since i know when they come back from vacation (they’re away until april 11) i’m going to have to face things and talk with them about it it’s become an excuse not to do anything until then. and not having money for the subway hasn’t helped, no OA meeting last week, and probably none this week either.
i’m caught between being exhausted and disgusted by it and wanting to just submerge myself back in it, get numb, stop caring.
but whatever you may think, if you have an ed you are NOT in control. less than a week ago i was binging and not purging and terrified that i’d never be able to lose weight again. before that i was purging 5-7 times a day. and now i’m undereating. am i in control? nope. out of money, perhaps. but no more or less in control than i was when i was spending all day b/ping, or when i was binging and gaining weight like crazy.
in the 12 steps this is called step 1. i admit it- i’m powerless!!!!
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: fiction, flash fiction, humour, short story
things could be waaaay worse if someone decided to make anger illegal!
[name of offender],
Owing to the fact that society finds anger in [women, racial minorities, the mentally ill, physically disabled individuals, deaf people, teenagers choose which applies] unseemly, the legislature has found it necessary to codify certain standards of behavior for individuals such as yourself.
It has further come to the attention of our department that your past behavior, specifically that you have been known to [disseminate opinions judged likely to incite others to anger, disseminate fiction or poetry indicative of an angry state of mind, publicly engage in angry or inflamatory discourse, talk back to and/or disobey your parents/husband choose which apply] suggests a certain likelihood on your part to be in violation of the aforementioned statute against anger in [women, racial minorities, the mentally ill, physically disabled individuals, deaf people, teenagers choose which applies].
This notice, in compliance with article 9786 of the statute, shall serve as your notification and warning as to the nature of the current law and your obligation to cease and desist any and all behaviors indicative of an angry or disgruntled state of mind. Failure to comply with this notice will necessitate further action on the part of this body that may take the form of your re-education and/or removal from society either temporarily or permanently, depending on the severity of your case and taking into account certain financial considerations that may mitigate on your behalf.
Samantha D. Davis
(place signature stamp here)
Office of Public Decency
things could be worse if i had a monster for a child.
At first he drank milk, almost like a normal baby. Then in his third month he grew those little pointed teeth. He’d bite me just enough to break the skin and drink my milk mixed with my blood. It made his father proud.
I’ve always been a nice girl. I’ve done what was asked of me, without complaining. I’ve sat quietly in church on Sunday morning. I’ve helped with the children and with the chores. I haven’t ever been any trouble. The very first thing I did that they didn’t like was to marry my husband, alien or monster or vampire, whatever he is. No one approved of him, even though they didn’t know he was a monster, of course. I thought about what it meant to go against my parents, then I decided if a woman gets one choice in this world it ought to be a choice of who she marries. So I did.
I have to go. I hear my baby in the house, hungry again. I’ll feed him with my blood and my anger and my fear. I’ll raise him into a true monster, a monster even his father will fear. I’ll raise him to bite the world until it bleeds, and laugh as it cries, and suck it dry.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: fiction, flash fiction, humour, short story
things could be worse, right? this time he might be serious.
Death’s a great guy, when you get to know him. A total buddy! We go way back, see, to when I met him in the bar the night Old Jerry (the old bartender) had his heart attack. He came in and I said I know you’re here on business but why not have a beer with the guys first, give Old Jerry an hour or two to say goodbye to his wife and give yourself a rest old fellow. Your job must really take it out of you!
So he turned to me and pointed a bony finger at me and said in a low, chilling voice, “I wasn’t here for Old Jerry, Tom.”
I damn near dropped my beer! But of course he was kidding. Such a kidder, that guy. We told him he was welcome any time and since then he’ll drop in for a beer with the guys once or twice a week. Sometimes more, when there’s a major war or a famine or a natural disaster or something. It’s no picnic, being Death.
Still, he seems to keep up his spirits. Always tries to kid us and tell us he’ll be “seeing us soon” or “watch that first step, it’s a doozy” or what have you. But, you know, I’m not as young as I used to be. Just turned 90 last month if you want to be specific about it. And I wonder if, just possibly, what with him showing up here at my home and all… Do you think this time he might be serious?
Filed under: anorexia, bulimia, eating disorder recovery, eating disorders | Tags: anorexia, bulimia, eating disorder recovery, eating disorders, pro-ana, proana
when i was with annie, she told me that if i wanted to be with her i had to give up my ed. and i told her it was an easy choice- and when i said it i meant it. but that was before i’d ever tried giving up my anorexia (this was before i became ragingly bulimic like i am right now). it turned out to be easier said than done.
when i was with marie, she never asked me to give up my ed. but when we were having problems, a little while before she broke things off, she told me “you want to starve to death more than you want to be with me” and i couln’t say a thing. because it was true. my ed and my depression were huge and my relationship with her was tiny when seen in comparison with my relationship with food.
these past few days i’ve been full on back to my old habits, no pretense of meals, all puking all the time. i was slipping big time, but seeing my weight was a huge trigger and since then i haven’t had a meal i didn’t puke.
now, i’ve been really excited to finally have a bit of my creative writing ability back. and i ought to know from experience that i’ll lose that ability as quickly as i regained it. so the question in my mind is: do i want to starve to death more than i want to be able to write beautiful stories? do i want to lose 10 pounds more than i want to be able to think clearly and write well?
it ought to be an easy answer, huh?
