The story is about an obese teenager.
Chapter One
285. The blinking lights of the scale scream at me. Ugh. Disgusting. I am standing in the small cramped bathroom of my tiny one bedroom apartment. The walls are painted white. The entire room is sterile. Boring. I am standing on my cheap ten dollar scale, naked. Clothes add at least two pounds. Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs like prickly spiders, as I step off of the scale. The numbers disappear before my very eyes. Just like magic. I wish it were that easy.
The floor creaks and moans under my weight as I look at my reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. My hazel eyes sparkle in the light. My mousy brown hair is cut short. A pixie cut. I used to work with a woman who had the same haircut. I thought it was cute so I decided to give it a try. I was wrong. The cut looked cute on her, but on me it is horrible. Absolutely ghastly. It makes my bloated face stick out. My double chin wiggles when I talk. I have a double mouth.
I stare at the rest of my body. White and pink stripes zigzag down my arms. My legs. My stomach. My thighs. The pink fleshly stretch marks are everywhere. I am hideous. I can’t stand to look at myself anymore. My stomach rolls and wiggles as I bend down to put on my clothes.
I cover up my disease with an oversized t-shirt and hoodie. My denim jeans are tight. The elastic band cuts into my skin, creating a red mark across my entire stomach. The buttons are so tight that I can barely breathe; let alone move. This is the only pair of pants that I can wear. Size 24W. I need to buy more, but I keep telling myself that I will lose weight. I never do.
I would appreciate any criticisms or opinions. I'm new to Yahoo Answers so if I don't reply sorry, I don't really know how to yet. Thanks in advance for anyone who reads and/or comments.
Chapter One
285. The blinking lights of the scale scream at me. Ugh. Disgusting. I am standing in the small cramped bathroom of my tiny one bedroom apartment. The walls are painted white. The entire room is sterile. Boring. I am standing on my cheap ten dollar scale, naked. Clothes add at least two pounds. Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs like prickly spiders, as I step off of the scale. The numbers disappear before my very eyes. Just like magic. I wish it were that easy.
The floor creaks and moans under my weight as I look at my reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. My hazel eyes sparkle in the light. My mousy brown hair is cut short. A pixie cut. I used to work with a woman who had the same haircut. I thought it was cute so I decided to give it a try. I was wrong. The cut looked cute on her, but on me it is horrible. Absolutely ghastly. It makes my bloated face stick out. My double chin wiggles when I talk. I have a double mouth.
I stare at the rest of my body. White and pink stripes zigzag down my arms. My legs. My stomach. My thighs. The pink fleshly stretch marks are everywhere. I am hideous. I can’t stand to look at myself anymore. My stomach rolls and wiggles as I bend down to put on my clothes.
I cover up my disease with an oversized t-shirt and hoodie. My denim jeans are tight. The elastic band cuts into my skin, creating a red mark across my entire stomach. The buttons are so tight that I can barely breathe; let alone move. This is the only pair of pants that I can wear. Size 24W. I need to buy more, but I keep telling myself that I will lose weight. I never do.
I would appreciate any criticisms or opinions. I'm new to Yahoo Answers so if I don't reply sorry, I don't really know how to yet. Thanks in advance for anyone who reads and/or comments.