The Retelling

This chapter is about her recalling the day that her life began falling downhill.

     Caliginous lighting casts down on my paper.  My eyes strain to adjust between the dim light

and my flowing words.  The connection between my pencil and paper produce a scratching sound that can almost down out my television.  I'm watching one of the many pointless reality shows that simply prey on the emotions of already lifeless people.  Exploiting their addictions, needs, wants, and stamina.  Pushing them to the edge of an emotional cliff that the rest of the world has already jumped from.  I watch, but my line of vision melts feebly into the screen and I don't process any of the moving pictures.  The screens gaze returns mine and takes hold of my eyes.  I can't seem to turn away from its insignificant plot, planned dialogue, and feeble excuse for American entertainment.  Its characters' addictions and problems almost become my own.  I begin sympathizing and disliking certian women in the house.  I get caught in their infinitesimal drama.  A flash of reality crosses my eyes.  A flash just long enough to snap me out of my surreal show trance.  I drag my sore eyes back down to my paper.  However, I can't escape the show.  It sits at the back of my mind, plays in the front, and even materializes when I close my eyes.  It's like a scar that runs down my head.  A scar that won't ever lift it's mangled edges.  Although the show has no story behind it, it makes me wonder if my life has a story.  Am I just living day by day or if I look back to I really have an interesting story to share?  I ponder this question, all the while using all my might to keep my gaze diverted from the televisions hypnotic stare.  I revisit year after year in my head.  However, only one memory burns itself into my mind.  The one I realize is the memory worth sharing.  I press my pencil back to my paper to begin my recount; your exploration, into one of my momst life altering experiences.

 

     I don't recall how everything started but I do remember the time.  It was mid-time Novemeber when my image did change.  The trigger: Aerobics class.  But was Aerobics class really what started it or was there some deep underlying event that kicked everything in motion long before?  Anyway, I was facing the wall while trying to simultaneously tug off my shirt, hold my bra down, and twist my body in a way to reduce its visibility.  My bra and shirt straps were tangled and the last thing on my agenda, at the moment, was standing in the open trying to reorganize them.  I've always felt weird and vulnerable in situations like this.  Situations in which at anytime each and every girl in the locker room could make a full assessment about you.  They could and would judge you from head to toe by just giving the simplest of glances.  It's nerve racking, particularly when your self-esteem could converse with the dust bunnies under the sink, if it truly wanted to.

     The dismissal bell rings tauntingly in my ears as I quickly shove my gym clothes into my assigned locker and head off to lunch.  I pass the large darkened windows of the weight room and glance sheepishly at my reflection.  Dark brown eyes stare back at me, judging my every move.  My eyes emit an intensity that I can't cope with.  I quickly cast my gaze downward to my torso and long lanky legs; unable to keep looking myself honestly in the eyes.  I see slight love handles, no abdominal definition, and thighs that I wouldn't describe as "toned".  My eyebrows furrow with each realization.  I'm too distgusted to keep up this self-assessment so I turn my back on my unhappy reflection and continue my path to the cafeteria.  I stare at my worn Puma shoes as I walk and I can't seem to get my counterpart out of my head.  I've always heard that a reflection doesn't lie; if that's the whole truth then my confidence has already dug a hole halfway to China.

     I've tried to keep up a workout regime, but I was never one to be very motivated.  I'm a bit on the lethargic side as wel as not having enough time to get to the gym at all.  Besides, I like fast results and a hundred crunches daily just wasn't cutting it for me.  These thoughts run through my head at light speed before I realize that I've reached the lunch line.  I go through the feed line; unconsciously grabbing a spoonful of this and a packet of that, not really paying attention to what I was about to put into my body.  After standing in the line, greedily grabbing a dish of sludge, and making my way back to a table, I finally discover my answer to obtaining my dream body.  It yielded quick results and I wouldn't have to sweat my a*s off for no reason.  I glance down at the toxic mess on my tray and know fully well that this so called "meal" is precisely what won't get me to my goal.  I take a small bite and scrunch my face, to ensure to my friends of my disgust in today's lunch, and then dump al my trays contents into the infested trash.  The black garbage bag is covered in substance scum from the kids who knew better than to digest their mystery meat.  I turn my tray and watch the food slide from it and into the bottomless pit.  Every morsel gets devoured by the garbage's gaping mouth; everything except a small red apple.  I grip it in my hands.  Its peel shines from the overhead fluorescent lighting and I can almost see my revolting reflection as I take a large mouthful out of it.

Author's Note

Well how did you like it...you might also want to read the 2nd Chapter, Beauty from Pain to get a better feel of the story
The title is deffinatly temporary..I just thought of one in a quick five seconds.
Again grammer etc issues just point them out and I'll be happy to fix them

Reviews

[Rain]

Fantastic. There HAD better be more to this. Well, written; a vague idea where it's heading, but the setup is beautiful, Your comment comparing your sef-esteem to the dust bunny very clever.
Only typo was in your author's note... definitely. This piece has great potential. Rain..