She wished she could take it all back, every last bit. She’d have to, because she didn’t even know what did it, what caused such an astronomical disaster as this.
Maybe it was the way she wore her hair, each piece specifically unkempt. She hadn’t washed it in years, and she didn’t even own a brush. It wasn’t just untidy like some girls’, it was an absolute mess, and she had walked the halls at school each day with it that way as if saying “look at me!” Pathetic, the way she vied for attention.
Maybe it was the way she dressed, in tattered, unwashed clothes. She’d spent hours looking through dumpsters for shirts and trousers, and shoes that used were nearly impossible to come by. Dirty, second-hand clothes were all she kept in her closet these days, and she knew her classmates talked about it at school. Pathetic, how hard she tried.
Maybe it was her body odor, putrid as it was. Bathing wasn’t really in her regular schedule. Instead she was particularly grimy. Dirt caked in the folds of her skin and fungus grew between her toes, combining to create a unique, rancid odor all her own. People at school would smell her as they walked by, whether they wanted to or not. Pathetic, how she cared what they thought.
Maybe it was the way she ate, like each meal would be her last. She’d sometimes go in face-first, as if she wanted more of it to end up on her face than in her mouth. She chewed loudly with her mouth open, jaw smacking the combination of food around her green teeth for all to see, and she always finished with a strong, loud belch. Pathetic, her table manners.
Maybe it was all of these things: her luxurious hair, her incredible style, her alluring scent, and her cultured ways, or maybe it was none of them at all. She was radiant, unignorable, and it was all her fault; some people were cleaner, more bland, but she just couldn’t help it: she wanted to be beautiful.
Well, it must have worked, because there he was, standing right across from her, claiming that he loved her. Pathetic, how he had fallen.
Didn’t he know love was a disease, a weakness, lethal? Was he trying to contaminate her, too? Sure, his hair had a nice greasy shine, and she could smell him from five feet away, but that didn’t matter. He needed to be quarantined, kept away from her and everyone else before his brain rotted into nothing.
“Did you hear me Eliza? I love you. I know they say it’s wrong, but you’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever met, and even if my brain is rotting, it makes me happy. I feel happy.” His three dark eyes pleaded with her two golden ones, his green hand reaching for hers.
“Why? How could this even happen?” Her voice shook with disbelief.
“I just – you’re nice, and you’re funny, and you know exactly who you are, and I love-”
“Stop using that word,” she interrupted, wondering if his disease could spread to her through the air. She took a step back.
“The first time I saw you,” he began a little more quietly, “I heard you say you loved the way the sky turned purple right before it rains, and I had never heard something so beautiful. I think part of me knew, even then…”
“I have to go,” she replied quietly, “and you should, too.”
“Please-” She closed the door behind her, silencing his pleas as she fled from the building. He would not get the best of her. She would not be pathetic, she would not be diseased.
Author’s Notes: I’m drawn to writing dark/weird stuff, apparently. I hope you enjoyed this little short story though. I intend to posting stories/poems once a week to this blog, so if there are any prompts you want me to attempt feel free to leave them in the comments. Hope you’re doing well! x.
dream.think.work. 