ImperfectionA Story by Silvermoon Depressing short story.
What is wrong with you?
They will ask you. Why are you not perfect? They will expect the best from you. Why can't you be like him? Or her? They will compare you. Do this. They will command you. Don't do that. They will restrict you. Not good enough, too slow, too fast, too skinny, too fat, too smart, too dumb, too quiet, too loud. They will never stop, always finding imperfections in everything you do. They will smile. --------------------------- The first one is always the deepest. The cold metal pressed against the flesh, the flesh that is always too fat, too skinny, too tan, too pale. The second is shallower. Biting into the bone, the bone that is always too strong, too weak, too thick, too thin. The rest hold less significance. But they hurt. The blood will trickle down the length of your arm, staining the spotless bathroom tiles. The blade is tucked safely In a corner. The paper towel is dipped in the soapy water and dropped on the floor. The sleeve is pulled down. The door unlocks and the evidence is left behind. --------------------------- You keep your head down at school. Be that strange lonely kid. That's fine. As long as no one tries to talk to you. Sink into your seat. The teachers don't call on you. You keep your eyes on the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. You watch as the minute hand makes it's journey across the face of the clock. It passes the numbers, keeping a constant, steady beat. Tick. Tick. Tick. The bell rings. The teacher will give out the homework. You don't take it. They won't ask for it. Slip into the crowd, getting pushed and trampled. They don't notice you. Enter another classroom. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. ---------------------------The moment you step foot in the door, a parent will be there. Their mouth is set in a hard line. Their eyes are cold. They open their mouth for biting words. You push past them and pound up the stairs. The door is safely locked. There's no homework. Not for you, at least. Nothing to do. You snuggle under the sheets and drift off into sleep. You dream of them. Awakening immediately, you throw off the covers. The urge is pressing. Into the bathroom. The door is locked. The knife slides out. --------------------------- A carrot is cruelly speared on a silver fork. The parent watches you. They ask if you did your homework. You tell them you had none. The carrot is being ripped into shreds, suffering the wrath of your molars. Eyes scrutinize you. They are still watching. They want you to talk. You say nothing. Their face is crinkled, brows furrowed, corners of the mouth turned down. Their mouths open and close, but you aren't listening. You shove the last bit of potato into your mouth. Your chair scrapes on the oak floor. They ask where you are going. You say you are going to finish your homework. You are gone before they can reply. ---------------------------- It hurts. Its blade gleams in the fluorescent lighting. It hurts It slices open another bit of too fat, too skinny, too tan, too pale flesh. It hurts. But you can't stop. You have to get rid of them. They tell you it's impossible. But you know better. Just a little deeper. A little deeper, and they will leak out with the blood. Another cut. It's deeper still. You see blood. Crimson spattered on white. But not them. Another one. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. But you have to. You need to get rid of them. They whisper in your ears all day. A few more. They are still inside. They snicker at your failure. ---------------------------- What is wrong with you? They will ask you. Why are you not perfect? They will expect the best from you. Why can't you be like him? Or her? They will compare you. Do this. They will command you. Don't do that. They will restrict you. Not good enough, too slow, too fast, too skinny, too fat, too smart, too dumb, too quiet, too loud. They will never stop, always finding imperfections in everything you do. They will smile. ---------------------------- They will never stop. Sneers drift through your dream world. They know. Why do they know? Why can't they just leave you alone? Laughter rings in your ears. ---------------------------- It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. ---------------------------- It will not stop hurting. Not until they leave. When they are silent. Only then, you will be perfect. ----------------------------
© 2012 SilvermoonAuthor's Note
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Added on August 25, 2012Last Updated on August 28, 2012 Author
SilvermoonSuwanee, GAAboutAge: 12 Gender: Female Yayz life is not crap! But for some reason I feel like trying to put a depressing twist on random stuff. Like Where's Waldo. more..Writing
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