Secret Snippets

Hunger

I can feel it.

It burns, right in the core.

Theres only one way to feed it.

No, I cant; I won't.

If I just wait one more minute then it'll go, it always goes after one more minute.

It growled again, like a caged beast trying to clawing its way out; it hurts so much.

But I want to be perfect, perfect like the people on the billboards, perfect like the models in the magazines, perfect like the singers on television.

Its not so bad anymore, the hunger, now I've gotten used to it, it used to be terrible. I used to be in excruciating pain a pain so bad that all I could think of was my next little nibble of a chocolate bar, but now the pain isn't so bad. Its like my body is in shock and now I'm just numb, everything is numb but my strive for perfection, that is bigger than ever. But why will no one help me? All of my friends tell me that I'm crazy that I am already perfect, but they are just saying that, they have to because they are my friends and they don't want to hurt my feelings.

I'm still waiting to be perfect.

I closed my diary with my long, pale, fingers trembling as they tied the rough orange rope. I don't know why I'm trembling its not even cold in my bedroom, but my whole body is shaking, shaking so much that the mint green walls of my room begin to shake and wash away like the watercolours I used on mother's birthday present, still green but only just visible. There was a faint and steady beeping to the left of me, followed by the almost silent whisper of two people. The green finally washed away and I was no longer stood in my room, but watching my body lie in a hospital bed.

What happened?

My body was limp and deadly pale, there were tubes and needles stuck into various places up my arms and attached to my mouth, in an almost comical way.

How did I get here?

The whispering I heard was the stifled sobs of my mother who was clutching my hand and the green watercolour painting was lying on my stomach; the pale green was so vibrant against the sterilised white of the hospital sheets. I was so bad at art but I couldn't think of anything else to do, I knew she wasn't happy with it by the way her voiced raised in pitch and how she looked over at my step mum, Zoe, with laughter and surprise in her eyes. But she kept it anyway.

I'm sorry mum.