This is me,
Life should be,
Another pack of crisps.
- Creg Cornwall, diary entry 20/08/09
For years Creg had been just another weedy nerd with skin snapped thinly around his un-muscular frame, and so no one had noticed when he snuck an extra ginger beer or two after a long hard day at school. Soon he'd packed away an extra pound or two, two became four, four became twenty-seven, and suddenly he was pushing his way to his favourite Bush album - sixteen stone.
It was about this point that Creg made two discoveries - firstly, that not one single pair of his pants still fit correctly, and secondly, that his mother was a cheapskate. He'd been sitting in his room one day, happily polishing off his second family-sized can of tuna when his mother burst in looking frantic. "PRAISE THE LORD MY GOD, CREG, YOU ARE FAT!" she exclaimed. Creg responded by snuffling into his tuna faster than ever, like a fat feline paranoid it's food is about to be taken away.
"YOU'VE EATEN HALF THE FOOD IN THE HOUSE! And... And... LORD ALMIGHTY YOU'RE NOT WEARING ANY PANTS!"
"They don't fit," Creg murmured into his stinking tin.
"And what? You expect me to buy you some more? Well guess what buck-o, I've just seen this thing on the television, an ad during songs of praise, and you know what? It's looking for fatties like you. I just bought you pants last year, I'm not buying you any more."Creg shot her a pained expression, his eyes glazed over in horror.
"Yep. Won't cost me a thing. They want fat losers in their teens and I think you more than qualify. You better act like you want in, I'm not paying to send you to a real fat camp."
"I WON'T DO IT!" Creg gulped back.
"Oh you will," she replied coldly. "You'll do exactly what I say. You'll be living on the streets if you don't. I'm not spending another cent on your fat self that's for sure."
"NO NO NO NO!" Creg screamed, tears appearing upon his cheeks. "Suck it up you pansy. It's your fault you're this fat," and with that she walked out and slammed the door behind her. Creg slumped back on his bed, hurling the can of tuna and fork across the room as he kicked at the sheets, cursing his mother and the fact he'd ever been born between sobs. The sobs soon turned to a runny nose and a fit of coughing. Creg blew his nose and looked down into the tissue. There, staring back at him, was a thick pink flake of tuna riding across a slimy film of yellow snot.
Creg hurled the offensive thing across the room, but as he did he realized that just like that piece of tuna he had taken the wrong path. His tiny body, the piece of flesh he once knew, was swimming in an ocean of excess goop. Maybe his mother was right for once, maybe fat camp was exactly what he needed. He definitely needed to get out more, he couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling his whole life was just one big inside joke that got dragged out every few months. Besides, maybe he'd meet a girl there, someone who had no scruples, no standards when it came to men. The kind of girl who would pick a piece of discarded chewing gum off the ground and eat it. The kind of girl who was forced to come to fat camp so her stomach stopped falling out. That was the girl for Creg. He'd meet her when she was fat, then they could get slim together, and he'd have his first real girlfriend, one he didn't have to pay money to, one he could show off to all his friends. Well, if he had any friends. Creg smiled and rolled over, excited for what the morning might bring.
Wednesday, 3 November 2010
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
My father stood, tersely muttering that it was a shame. Whether he meant that the family name had been disgraced or whether he actually felt some kind of pity was moot. Either way I sat dejectedly staring at the ground; there was only so far a person could physically stoop and no mere words could bend me any more. He paused, standing awkwardly amongst the silence before shuffling out of the room. I couldn't blame him for not wanting to get involved. How could I ask anyone to accept me when I could no longer accept myself? I hated my body, it was a rotting cocoon of filth, a refuse tip for other people's bodily emissions. It was tainted and no amount of scrubbing could clean it. No simple baptism of water could save me. So I looked up, begging, with tears streaming down my face, and from the dining room where I sat, I could see His blue halo. It danced, beautiful upon the stove top, as if Terpsichore herself embodied it. On my knees in reverence I touched it's blue light and covered myself with it.
Monday, 31 May 2010
Thoughts on paper
Cast-nets of shadows from my mind.
Dappled and motley.
Silvered and blind.
Coal black the darkest recesses,
ablaze in my fight.
Twisted, matted tresses obscuring my sight.
Where purpose is lost,
Haunted by ghosts.
Whirling for clarity traded.
Friday, 30 April 2010
The rain comes down today and the skies have been so clear.
The clouds blew over,
the muted sun their backlight.
The rain comes down today and off yonder the clouds grow dark
The streets wet now-betraying their stench,
The rain comes down today.
Take shelter little souls.
Don’t get wet.