Weight

Wilma Top sucked in a breath and released it as she placed all her weight on the bathroom scale. Rapidly increasing, the numbers on the scale meant everything to Wilma. Panting, she impatiently waited for the numbers to decide her fate. How much weight did I lose? The thought multiplied, swarming around her head like wasps, almost filling her small white bathroom.

Suddenly, the display froze; unfeeling black numbers filled the small box. In a fit of rage, she stepped off the scale and slammed it into the wall. It bounced on the tile floor with a loud rattle as Wilma wailed. She weighed 250 lbs. Entering her pale and empty bedroom, she ripped off her baggy shirt. Its large size once brought her comfort but now it seemed to be tighter than ever.

Wilma felt her elephant-sized stomach churn; her buzzing thoughts began to sting. Staring at her mirror, she couldn’t help but think: “I look like a tub of lard.” Her arms and legs jiggled disgustingly as she moved them.

“You’re a disgrace; look what you’ve done, look what eating has done to you,” her thoughts roared.

Wilma slapped her hands over her ears, “I know!... I’m sorry, I-I’ll do better.”

“You look like a whale—no a pig, always wanting food and always looking for more.” Her mind was relentless.

As her thoughts grew louder, she screamed in an attempt to down them out.

Wilma’s stifled scream was enough to reach the ears of her mother. Mrs. Top wrinkled, napping face sprang alive. She flew up the stairs and sprinted up to Wilma’s bedroom. Worriedly, she knocked on her daughter’s door and asked, “Wilma, is everything alright?”

All Mrs. Top heard was a muffled gag. Mrs. Top turned the knob and shoved the door open. Her eyes scanned the small bedroom. She saw no sight of Wilma until the door creaked open. A small girl wobbled out of the bathroom, every bone and joint poked out of her thin, sheet-like skin. She glanced at her mother; her vomit-stained mouth turned into a smile.

“Don’t worry, only a couple more pounds to lose.”