Post Work in Progress for Peer Review

Announcements


Welcome to Write It, the home for young writers. Post your works-in-progress and get feedback or give your opinion on your peers’ creative writing. Try a step-by-step writing workshop, then publish your writing online.

You’ve probably noticed we’ve made some changes to the boards! Find the boards for Underground Railroad historical fiction, Science Explorations, Scholastic News, and more right here.

Looking for our boards dedicated to favorite series, authors, and causes? You'll find them on THE THE STACKS. Head on over for the Buzz Board, Harry Potter, Save the Planet, Goosebumps, and more!
   [ 1 post ] Average score:  
Author Message
 36 Hours
new

Joined: Fri Aug 01, 2014 12:15 am
Posts: 48
Fri Apr 14, 2017 8:37 pm

36 Hours 

 

36: I think to myself 36 hours left. Only.

 

35: Hunger courses me. I am weak. What is left of me I wonder, what is left of my beauty?

 

34: I look down at myself and then into the reflection before me just to remind myself why I’m doing this. It has already been 6 hours. I can feel myself weakening. I go back to the corner of the room where the tattered red couch lays. I sigh, and then sit. 34 hours, I can do this.

 

33: My mother’s voice reminds us that dinner is ready in fifteen minutes. The waft of freshly baked garlic bread and pasta taunt me like nightmares. I imagine myself a year ago. I would have raced down the stairs, eager to fill my endless pit of hunger. Without awaiting my parents, I would have my plate finished before they had a chance to begin. Now, I am hungry. Although food consumes my thoughts, I cannot let it consume my stomach. Losing weight, people say is a hard thing, especially when you don’t believe you’ve lost any at all.

 

32: My sister is in my room telling me to come for dinner. I yearn to say yes, I’m coming! But I don’t. I look at her and tell her I’m not feeling well. Her innocence shields her from seeing beneath my mask, and she waltzes out the room happily and down to the dinner table.

 

31: I’m glad my mother didn’t come to check on me. I’ve picked up a book and am reading. At least I’m doing something. I figure she thinks I have the flu and am sleeping it off. More like starving it off.

 

30:

 

29: I fell asleep. The hunger has diminished. Thank goodness. I’ve got homework, but it lies untouched in my backpack. I know that’s where it will remain.

 

28: My mother is in my room. She tells me she left some dinner in the fridge downstairs for me. I sit up from the worn couch beneath me. I tell her I’m not feeling well, and I’ve eaten earlier. She doesn’t stop. She asks what I ate. I tell her I bought a sandwich from the cafeteria. She nods, tells me to feel better, and leaves the room. I just lied to her.

 

27: It is now 12:00am. I shut off my reading lamp and put my almost finished book aside. I disembark from the couch that I have occupied for hours now. Heading to my bed dizzy, and tired, although it’s not sleep my body is screaming for.

 

26:

 

25:

 

24:

 

23: An intense pain awakes me. The hunger is catching on too quickly. I glance at the clock that rests upon the shelf above my bed. It glows red: 4:03am. I ignore the pain and fall back to sleep.

 

22:

 

21:

 

20: I awake to the sound of the blinds opening. My mother stands to the left of my room enabling the sunrise to seep into my room. She notices me rubbing my eyes from the slumber of sleep and happily greets me with good morning. I sit up and shudder. I’ve always felt colder when I’m hungry.

 

19: I’ve gotten dressed and am now downstairs waiting for my mother and sister to be done so I can get a ride to school. Neither of them will notice I haven’t eaten breakfast, nor packed myself a lunch. To me, that is wonderful.

 

18: I brave English with a growling stomach. Our task is to write about a past experience gone wrong. It draws me to remember the laxatives I tried two months ago. Sitting on the toilet in excruciating pain. But I had the satisfaction of eating. I now have the satisfaction of hunger.

 

17: English ends and math begins. Someone has brought a package of Oreos and offers me one. I don’t know if it is hard to resist. I know my hunger, but I know my purpose; I refuse.

 

16: I am still in Math. It is harder and harder to focus, but I put up with it. I ask to use the washroom. I enter, but that’s not why I’m here. I pretend to adjust the make up I’m not wearing. The washroom is now empty. I lift my shirt enough to display my stomach. I look at myself. I am fat.

 

 

15: When lunch arrives I hide in the library. I am afraid to face the small group of friends; they will know I’m starving myself again. But before I reach the doors to the library, I catch a waft of Mac and Cheese and pizza being sold at the cafeteria. I am hungry.

 

14: Science has just begun. I sit at the back of the room in the far left corner. I sit alone. Even so, would anyone want to sit by me?

 

13: My science teacher is speaking to me. Asking me about the assignment I ignored last night. She threatens to call my mother. I shrug my shoulders. Tell her I will finish them over the weekend and leave. She will see my grades struggle, but she won’t see me struggle. Teachers do not see everything.

 

12: I cook cupcakes in foods. As the bell rings ending the day, I glance behind me then toss them out before I leave.

 

11: After the short walk from where the bus drops me off, I arrive home. My mother is in the kitchen starting to prepare dinner. She asks me how my day was and if I want a snack. I shake my head, no I’m not hungry I tell her. I just lied to her, again.

 

10: I sit in my room with a pencil in hand and a blank math assignment in front of me. All of a sudden my eyes go blurry staring at the numbers. They water, and I just start crying. I can’t stop. They fall down like raindrops, one after the other. I only ask myself one question: Why am I crying?

 

9: Dinner is in half an hour. If I don’t show up again, mother will know something is up. I’m thinking of a plan, but I’ve already used the excuses I know earlier. I could go, but eat just a little. My stomach growls; my body wants food so bad. But I have 9 hours. 9 hours left and then I can eat. I lie again. I will tell my mother that I have a huge science project I need to get done, and that I ate earlier so I could spend the entire evening working on it. Maybe that will convince her; I need to just wait and see.

 

8: She closes the door as she leaves. My mother pleaded with me to come for dinner. She told me my science project could wait thirty minutes for food. I told her reassuringly that I wasn’t hungry. I. Am. Starving. 

 

7: I am lying on my bed. Too weak to move or talk. I tried getting up and walking, but instantly felt like I was going to faint. My science work is scattered on the ground just in case my mother happens to check on me. I stare at the ceiling. I wish beauty were easy.

 

 

 

6:

 

5:

 

4: I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until a knock on my door awakes me. My mothers voice drifts through the door. She is asking if I’ve gone to bed yet. I respond weakly, but I manage: I need five more minutes and then my project will be completed. Thankfully she doesn’t enter and leaves after that.

 

3: I’m wide-awake. It is 12:00am. Three hours left. From where I’m perched on my bed I gaze into the mirror. My face is hollow, pale, and lifeless. My arms are twigs and my body is a dying tree.

 

2: I am hungry. I could have stopped. But each time I look into the mirror words echo through me, and I remember: I am fat.

 

1: I’ve got one hour. I reach for a book from my nightstand. I read for five minutes. I can’t focus. I pick up my phone. I haven’t checked it since yesterday. Immediately I see missed calls and texts. Without reading them, I put my phone back down. Why do people care so much about me?

 

0: I am done. I don’t know what to feel. Joy? Satisfaction? I get out of my bed and slowly head for the stairs to eat. Unexpectedly, I fall. I yelp as I crash down the stairs, too weak to stop myself. And then, lying four steps down, I start crying. I see my mother coming in the wake of the commotion I’ve caused. Crying harder than I ever have, I’ve also awoken my sister. But I’m not crying because I’ve fallen. I’m not crying because I’m so famished it hurts to move. I’m not crying because now my mother will know what I’ve done.

 

I’m crying because somewhere some girl is struggling harder than me. Some girl is crying tears more than me. She’s starving more painfully than me. And she has fallen way farther than me.

 

What is beauty?

 

 

 

 

 




Display posts from previous:  Sort by  
 
   [ 1 post ] Average score:  


PRS © 2008 PRS Team