fiction, flash fiction, literary, obesity, poetry, prose, short story
I feel like this one might need some explanation. I had decided to try my hand at literary prose. Problem is, I don’t know how to write that. I looked it up, and everything kinda sounded like a poetry slam, but without the rhyming. It seemed that a message was most important thing, second character, third plot.
So, here it is. Turns out, I couldn’t get the rhythm without the rhyme. So my story is basically a long poem. Enjoy!
When I was a child, I wanted to run and play, explore my world and seize every day. But my mother worried about me out on the streets. She had concerns of where I would go, or who I would meet. Stranger danger, drugs, abductions, no one was to be trusted. Anything could happen out in the world, the news said, and my mother adjusted.
But she worked long nights and on me, couldn’t keep her eye. I understood that she was doing what she needed for us to get by. But still, I was restless, I needed some friends. Other kids played outside, I wasn’t fitting in.
I started looking for comfort, something to ease my mind. I found that distractions were easy to find. Television was my first lover, my original BFF. It showed me what I was missing and what was okay to miss. The fictional character’s lives became more important than my own. After a while, I no longer minded being at home. I’d sit in the groove on my couch, hour after hour, watching fake people and feeling their power.
My vicarious life didn’t end there. Once I had the motor skills, I didn’t just want to stare. Gaming systems were next on my list. I’d play with Mario, and Spiro, then soldiers and fists. I got absorbed into the world of make believe. It took me deeper than television, it could better deceive.
For I was commander of the realm and many did fear me. I could skin an orc or decapitate a man in 3D. My home was my castle, my only escape, from the real world torments that occurred out of this place. As I was honing my gaming skill, I was losing my reality will.
I had a secret lover, all the while. Cases of sodas and chips in a pile. Some days, mom would leave money.
“Order a pizza, and feed yourself, honey.”
I did she said, trusted her wisdom. It was food after all, it must have nutrition. As time went on, the treat became normal. It was always take out for dinner, never anything formal. Soon, one pizza wasn’t enough. I needed two whole pies, with cheese in the crust.
I’d eat through the day when I went to school. Trying to fill the hole left by those cruel. I’d stop by a fast food place on the way home, spend my unearned allowance on something easy and warm. The food was so tasty. Besides games, it was my only joy. But I was just a kid. What did I know?
I grew and grew, capping out at moderate hight. But my body wasn’t done, and I was fueling the fight. I expanded outward, not upward as I continued to satiate my need. I sat in a chair, all day, virtually unmoving, but continued to feed.
I ate enough for an athlete, little did I know. And when I played my games, I was winning the show. I felt I deserved that third slice of cake. I had beaten my quests. I was great.
The condition of my skin worsened, and simple tasks became hard. The kids at school teased me, comparing me to lard. Their words stung deep, the pain was immense. Some days, I didn’t think that I could stand it being intense.
The worst day of my life, to that point at least, was when I went to school, and couldn’t fit in my seat. The children laughed, my mother was called, I hid my face and secretly bawled. I took one last look as she drove us away. As awful as it was, part of me wanted to stay.
I used the Internet for my final years of education. Sitting at my desk, in my chair, at my battle station. The courses were harder without a teacher. I had no motivation to finish, nothing to reach for. I struggled and quit, got a GED instead. To those I went to school with, I may as well have been dead. I didn’t hear from a single one. No ‘Hey, how’ve you been?’ It hurt to discover that I really had no friends. I knew I was alone, but I thought at least someone would care. But my friends on-line were the only ones there.
They were better than none, but they’re punches they didn’t pull. It was all part of the game, that I did know. But still, the jarring hurt, the truth at its core. I wasn’t loved, never before.
I found that I grew sicker, the more I grew thicker. Diabetes, anger, and I was always uncomfortable. Just standing from my chair could be battle up hill. The doctor gave me advice, but I didn’t listen. He couldn’t be smarter than my mother, who was responsible for my condition.
I continued on my path to being useless. I kept on communicating on-line, and living with abuses. My mother told me that it was time to stand on my own. She had done her job, I’d made it, I was grown. But I still felt like a child inside. Most days, I just wanted to run and hide.
I made the best effort that I felt I could. No one would hire me. I worried no one ever would. My mother started to get irritated. She cursed at me, pointed to my gut, said it was the problem and she’d had enough. She couldn’t understand how I had gotten so big or so lazy. I just looked at her like she was crazy.
This was the life she had laid out for me. I did what she taught. She didn’t want me to be this way, but how could I not? I was a child, I didn’t know how to be good. Instead of attention, she just gave me food. True, she kept me safe from perverts and strangers. But she didn’t realize that inside there were dangers. She kept me isolated, locked away. She didn’t realize the price that I’d pay.