she was right skinny that lass….so thin, and when she walked, every step she took looked proper painful. she was pale n’all, white in just about every way. hair bleached blonde, dry as straw, skin pale pale pale as death, eyes all red around the rims, trousers hangin’ off that skinny ass, well no ass really, not even hips to hold ’em up. god knows how she found clothes to fit. probably in the kids section at primark or somewhere like that. why would you spend money to hang things on bones? just bones she was.
i saw her walking deliberately and painstakingly, one step at a tiny time, one foot in front of the other like her bones might crack at any moment and let her down like her life did. so thin it was clear it was a fight to stay here, on this earth, in this body. i turned to stare. couldn’t help it ya know….fuck! that was shocking; a shocking thing to countenance. so thin she could hardly walk…did i say that already? so thin that if someone had knocked into her, she would maybe never even recover from the impact of a person, embodied, physical, present. how tiny and how vulnerable you must feel to be that way. to live with that much pain, and fear. flake. flimsy tiny flake. like the rice paper on the bottom of those coconut macaroons, no more substance than that. i eat one, no, devour one with gusto. she is repelled and vomits the emptiness she feels into a delicate bag she keeps inside her handbag especially for these occasions.
2. he sits behind the glass counter-shield in a shirt and tie. his job is boring and mundane. he takes pot-shots where he can. “wait there love, i’ll pick them up in a minute. i’m busy with another customer” (i’m sorry, did i ask for your help?) “you can’t leave it there love, just wait until i’m finished here”
oh fuck off you petty tyrant. i see your hunger for power and your desperate need for control over your tiny little empire. “hey, i’m just dropping off the post mister” i say, and he looks agitated. he works five days a week on that stool behind that counter. there is little else in his life when he gets home. he needs me. he needs to overcome me. i’m too pretty for him and he hates me for it.
3. on his way home, he is looking at an advert for a new x-box game when he bumps into that girl. it disturbed him when he met her eye. he says “sorry love” and then realises she is too fucking thin to warrant an apology from him, the king of the general post office. but she, shocked by his contact, catches his eye, and he, shocked by his own apology, catches hers. he can feel a stirring of something strange. he is aroused. his arousal is probably bigger than her wrist. he takes his chance, “um, hi…sorry, i didn’t mean to bash you like that”…”no worries” she says, pained by the conversation. she wishes he would just go now and leave her to continue towards home. “you alright love? i only live just over there, got a flat in the city centre. you need to take a moment or anything?”
and before you know it he is fucking her in his apartment. her bones barely withstanding his hips pressing against her. her body absent, even in coitus. he cums, after about two minutes, thinking of lara croft in tomb raider sucking him off. the girl cries only you’d never notice because her tears are as flaky as her bones. almost invisible. she felt nothing. everything is confirmed. he felt loathing. everything stays the same. “alright love, you need to go now…you know where the bus stop is yeah”…and she nods.