Dictionary Definition

Al·i·son

   [al-uh-suhn]

noun

1.  a female given name, form of Alice.

2.  a rare but formidable creature found in the harsh and little known land of Canada (kuhn-yah-duh).  Due to the unruly climate of Canada this creature has formed tough skin to withstand both icy temperatures and the icy words of bitchy snow beasts.  Though recently she has been sighted prowling around Sweden (sweed-n) and other parts of Europe. She is small so as to camouflage when needing to avoid unwanted male pursuit, but has also developed impressive vocal chords to attract wanted attention.  Quick to run she has proven hard to catch but can usually be found in the local bar or club.  Take care though, when startled, she has been known to lash out and bite those that get too close.  The easiest way to view this flighty creature is when sleeping, easy to spot by the gaping mouth and the snorting noises she emits.  All in all a pleasant addition to Vallgatan and one that will be missed greatly.

3.  Friend (frend).

 Sketch taken when spotted in Munich, Germany.

The Golden Orb

Bending over, I fixed the five inch serrated blade in my left boot.  The sheath had got twisted and that sort of thing could ruin a girls shoes.  Straightening up I stared at my reflection in the mirror and ran my fingers through my waist length black hair, the same hair that my mother had.  I looked just like her.  Darkly kohled dark eyes stared back at me from under a heavy fringe.  I readjusted the holsters of the two-barrel hollow-point Xarex 4.2 on my right thigh.  Father preferred us to carry his own guns as opposed to the competitors. 


Slipping my black leather jacket on, to cover the throwing stars stored in the small of my back, I turned around and walked out of my room and went left to the great hall.  Father had called a family meeting.  He liked to get us all together every once in a while, made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.


Sliding back the bolts, I pushed open the solid steel doors.  They were rigged to seal shut should there be another nuclear explosion.  All fifty-six rooms, the whole house, were programmed and kitted out to be individual panic rooms, should the worst happen.  As I slipped into the hall I saw that I was the last and that each of my seven siblings were already present.


“Ah, Jewel.  Good, now we’re all here.”


My Father sat at the head of the table, his hands clasped before him.  Sitting like that, with the cuffs of his pristine white shirt pulled back from his wrists, you could see the metal sealant that attached his left metal hand to his still real arm.  He had lost his hand in an accident in the factory before I was born, sliced off by a white hot blade.  He insisted on personally building the replacement.  His new hand was three times more efficient, he could handle extremely hot objects without damage and it was implanted with a tracking device, should he even go missing.  One of my first childhood memories was of my father taking me into the climate-control room so that he could push me on the swings, and noticing that when he pushed me only one hand was warm.


I sat down at my place at the table and nodded at my father.


“Let’s start with an update, shall we?” he began.  “Business is as good as ever.  With the new Pyro-Cannon prototypes Ethan perfected last month, Braxton was able to successfully negotiate a repeat contract with the PsyHawk district.  Every PsyHawk in the entire fifteenth district will be carrying a Xarex weapon by the end of the week.”   He paused to gaze proudly at my two oldest brothers. 


Ethan was getting closer every day to biting at my father’s heels.  He was inventing more and more powerful weapons, and Braxton was poised to assume control of the company.  With the two of them Father hoped to make Xarex Industries the dominant weapons dealer in the whole lower hemisphere.


We clapped and Ethan and Braxton nodded seriously. 


“Although today we are here on quite a different matter.”   He paused again and for the first time I noticed my sister, Perenne, beaming proudly.  


“Thank you, Father.” Perenne leant forward and paused for a moment before saying, “I’m pregnant.”


The hall erupted in noise immediately.  Perenne had married the leading steel provider’s eldest son, Samuel Stellick, last year.  It had been a very proud day for my Father.  Since then he had brokered a deal on first refusal on all the refined steel that was produced.  In return Stellick Steel’s security systems had been upgraded to the Xarex Mangum Plus.


We all clustered around my sister, she was glowing already.  The congratulations lasted about ten minutes until we were dismissed.  I was just about to leave when my Father called me.


“Jewel. Come here please.” 


I went to him and kneeled before him, laying my head in his lap, like I had done as a child.  He stroked my hair with his warm hand.


“Jewel, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you how important it is for everyone in this family to do their part.  A family is like a machine, it can only run smoothly if all the pieces are fitted correctly.  If one charge or one circuit is loose in a Pyro-Cannon the whole thing will explode.  Do you understand me?”


I stared up at him and nodded.


“Good girl.  Now I have something for you.”  He pulled from his pocket a small golden sphere. “This is my newest invention, its called a Palantir Orb.” He pushed a button and the two golden rings that encompassed the sphere began to rotate around it.  They spun faster for a couple of seconds before reaching their optimum speed and created an image that seemed to come from the middle of the ball.  Inside the ball was a perfect 3-dimensial image of my mother.


“You look so like her.”


I stared with wonderment at the long black hair and dark eyes.


“Thank you Daddy,” I whispered.

I went for a walk later that day.  The sky was grey.  It was always grey.  The storm clouds and poisons held at bay by the buzzing Amphibios Force Field created a charcoal ceiling for our world.  My Father had made me a holographic screen for my window when I was little.  With it I could see sunshine when I woke up, and hear birds, but I had shut it down years ago. 

Walking in the still air, kicking up dust, I somehow ended up walking past the Amphibios Head Office.   Amphibios was the company responsible for restraining the effects of the nuclear explosion, it had a base in each District. No one would be able to survive without their force fields. 


I was thinking about what my Father had said.  He needed me to find my place.  He loved me the most for looking so like our Mother, but that didn’t detract from the need for me to find my place in the machine.


“Can’t be a wrong charge,” I murmured.


Spinning the golden orb in my hands I walked past the imposing building.  Three tall cylinders, pale green in colour, with the force field power generators on the roofs of each.  No one really knew what they did inside, the company was owned solely by the Amphibios family and they were notoriously reclusive.  Even the elements are treacherous.  You can only trust Family.  It was their dictum.


I heard a click.


“Don’t scream, you’ll only make it worse for yourself.”


Turning slightly to my left I saw a raggedly dressed man, aiming an old Glock 9mm at me.  The thing was an antique.  It still used bullets, for Christ’s sake.


“Now hand over that nice shiny ball I saw you had, and anything else you got on you.  Nice and easy and you won’t get hurt.”


He clearly had no idea who I was.


I turned to face him, rotating my left wrist so that the palm of my hand faced him.  Flexing my fingers, I activated the magnet implanted in the heel of my hand.  The gun flew into my grasp and I simultaneously drew my own and aimed carefully.  No one used Daddy’s inventions like I did.


I fired one shot, the heat energy explosive contained in a hollow-point casing hit an old metal oil can, to the man’s right.  It shattered instantly in the blast, shrapnel flying everywhere.


“Catch my meaning?” I said.


He looked at the weapon in my hand, now aimed at his head, and ran.  I watched him go.


I bent over to holster my gun and the orb fell out of my pocket.


“Shit,” I muttered, and then watched in horror as it rolled into the drain behind me.  “SHIT!”


Kneeling down, I looked into the murky waters of the sewer.  I groaned in frustration, the ball was nowhere to be seen.  I beat my fist against the ground and fought back the tears that were threatening to fall.


“How can someone who can scare off a mugger, be so easily defeated by a drain?” said a voice behind me.


I turned and looked up at a sewer worker.  He was dressed in green protective overalls and had his helmet and breathing apparatus in his hands.


“I dropped something,” I said rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand.


“Was it important to you?” the man asked.


“Yes,” I whispered.


“You’re Jewel Xarex, aren’t you? “  I nodded. “We had Military Defence classes together, at Kemberton Academy.  You would always argue with Mr Clarke, got thrown out a couple of times as well, as I remember. ”


I stared up at this strange man talking about school while I was crouched over a drain.


“The idiot didn’t know what he was talking about,” I managed finally. “His stratagems were ancient and based on inferior security systems.”


“I can get it for you, if you like?” He peered into the drain. “Your ball.  I can retrieve it for you.”


“Could you?” I stood hurriedly.


“I could, yes.  But what’s in it for me?”


“What do you want?”  My stomach tightened at the thought of being indebted to this man.


“I want you to let me share the food from your table, the drink from your cup and to sleep with you always, in your bed.”


“Marriage?” I blurted out in surprise.  He had just quoted the lines from the hand-fasting ritual.


The man smiled. “Yes.”


I thought for a minute, there was no way this sewer worker could make a daughter of Xarex Industries marry him.  It didn’t matter what I said, even if I agreed, Father would forbid it.


“Alright.”  I stared at the man’s face for the first time.  He was utterly filthy, but he had a nice smile.
“It’s a deal then.” 


With that he reattached his breathing apparatus and put on his helmet.  He slid down the drain and was quickly immersed in the murky waters.


I held my breath as I waited. I let it out explosively as his head came back out of the water.  He pulled himself up out of the drain and lifted the lid of his helmet. 


“Here you go.” He handed me the golden orb and I bit my lip in excitement until I saw that one of the two golden rings was missing.


“Oh,” I said alarmed.


“Don’t worry, it’s safe,” he said waving the ring at me. “I’m just going to hang on to this to make sure you keep your promise.  There is usually an exchanging of rings during these sorts of negotiations anyway.”


I stared with horror and shock into the green eyes of the sewer worker.


“Now run along and tell Daddy.  I will be along in a little while, after I clean myself up.”


I felt myself move away from him in silence.


Father is going to kill me, I thought.




Back at the house I finally found Father in his offices, after searching for some time.  It was a large room decorated to look like a nineteenth century office.  There was a large oak desk, almost eight feet in length, and the walls were filled floor to ceiling with bookshelves.  The shelves were filled with all the classic works of the nineteenth, twentieth and twenty-first centuries.  He said that being surrounded by genius helped produce genius.


“Father…”


“Ah, Jewel, come here my darling and take a look at this.” He motioned me forward and held up the plans for what I saw was the Xarex Magnum 2.0. “What do you think?”


Momentarily distracted, I delved into the plans with gusto.


“You’ve re-routed the emergency panic trigger.”


“Yes, a gifted hacker managed to by-pass it in one of the western districts.  I’ve added two more fail-safes and a spiral codex.”


I pursed my lips. “Yes but in doing so you have left the panic-door locking system vulnerable. See the break point here?” I pointed to it.  Taking the plans from him and laying them out on the desk I began scribbling in pencil.  “Instead of rerouting through the doors, you can pass the codex through this circuit and by-pass the doors altogether.  Put a blocker here and you eliminate the break.”  I showed him my work.


He grinned. “You always were the best at spotting faults in security systems.  Do you remember when you got thrown out of Mr Clarke’s class for arguing with him?”


At that moment there was a beep on the desk and the holographic image of Father’s assistant appeared.  “Patrick Amphibios is here to see you, sir.”


“Amphibios?” Father said.  “As in Amphibios force fields?”


“Yes, sir.”


“Send him in.” My Father looked at me with raised eyebrows. “What could a member of the Amphibios family want with me?”


I was as shocked as he was. Amphibios didn’t do business with anyone, it was the one account my Father had never managed to get.  He had never even managed to get a meeting.


 I was even more shocked when my sewer worker walked in, now clean and wearing a suit.  His brown hair combed neatly out of his clear green eyes.   My Father stood to shake his hand.  “Mr Amphibios, very nice to meet you.”


“The pleasure is all mine Mr Xarex,” he replied, then smiled at me. “Oh good, Jewel is already here.  That makes things easier.”


I stared open mouthed.


“I have come to finalise the business transaction that I started this morning with Jewel,” he continued.


“Business Transaction?” my Father asked looking at me.  I couldn’t think of anything to say, my mouth opening and closing uselessly.


“I see Jewel hasn’t had a chance to tell you yet.”  Patrick Amphibios made a gesture to sit and my Father waved for him to do so. “My fault I’m afraid, at Amphibios we don’t like to hang around when making deals.  Jewel has agreed to come work for us, as a consultant from Xarex Industries, to overhaul our entire security system.”


“The entire security system?” My Father swallowed.


“Yes.  All three hundred and forty-six bases and the interconnecting systems.”


My Father looked at me, and after I didn’t say anything he looked back at Patrick.


“I first noticed your daughter’s talent at Kemberton Academy,” Patrick smiled. “And I have been tracking her progress ever since.  I believe she was responsible for designing the Trojan Dual-Checking process that added the plus to the Xarex Magnum Plus.  Was she not?”


“Yes she was.” My Father beamed at me. “And the tri-compartment function. But I thought Amphibios didn’t work with anyone outside of the family?”


“Yes.  That’s why Jewel has agreed to marry me.” He held up the gold ring. “She gave me this as her promise.”


My Father stared at the ring and then at me.


“Is this true?” he asked me.


“Well… Yes,” I said.


He blinked for a moment and exhaled loudly. “Well, if Jewel has already agreed…then who am I to stand in the way?  You have my blessing.”


“Excellent.” Patrick stood up. “Now, we won’t get into the details now, but I will have my legal team draw up the contracts and tell my mother about the wedding.  Would you care to join us for dinner this evening?”


“We would love to.” My Father answered standing to shake his hand.


“Good. This evening then.” 


Patrick nodded to us both before leaving the office.  My Father slumped back into his chair his hand on his head, shaking in disbelief.


“Three hundred and forty-six new systems.  Three hundred and forty-six new systems!”  He stared in wonderment at me.  “Even Braxton never managed that in one deal.  When I told you to find your place, I never expected…”


“Uh, Father… I’ll be right back.”


With that I ran out of the office and down the corridor, catching up with Patrick at the final door.  When I reached him I found I had nothing to say.


“I promise I will make you happy,” he said quietly.  “You never noticed me in those classes, did you?”


I shook my head. “You are risking a lot by doing this.  How do you know I won’t crash your entire company?”


“The same way you knew the lowly sewer worker wouldn’t steal from you.”


I looked at the face of the man I was going to marry, the sewer worker who had retrieved my golden ball.  Then he kissed me, and then everything changed.

My Mother…

She says, “Everyone else is doing it!”
I say, “If everyone else was gonna jump off a cliff would you do that too?!”
“Yes,” she replies, “I wouldn’t want to be alone.”

Ladies and Gentleman, my Mother...

Honestly

Hope

I find it funny that people most often associate hope with light.

I don't.

I think that hope is like sitting in the dark, with faith, and it only takes a single flame of doubt to cause shadows. It takes more courage, faith and hope to sit in the dark. Just as it only takes the smallest doubt to shatter the darkness, to cause shadows.

Think about it, is sleeping with the light on not doubting your own strength to sleep without it? To sleep in the dark?

Hope is sitting in the dark without turning the light on, ever.

Relationship Advice from Someone Who Has No Idea What They Are Talking About

Chapter 3: An Episode of the Over Analytical Mind


It has occurred to me that taking English Literature has led me to be overly analytical of inconsequential occurrences. To explain, Reader, I will detail two conversations.

The first was with Baby Player, which occurred before the events of chapter one transpired. We were doing one of the many various mindless tasks that restaurant work entails and, as doing, set our tongues-a-wagging.

“So how’s your love life then?” He asks me.

I laughed, “Same old shit!” I was still dating Posh Twat at the time.

“What about at Uni? Is there no one there you like?”

“There is nothing for me at Uni. They are all younger than me.”

Pay attention, here comes the interesting part.

“So? You’re hot enough to get a younger guy.” He replies.

Now this statement intrigued me and I started to unpick the implications in my mind.

First of all there was the inference that younger guys were of a higher calibre and therefore a girl needed to be particularly attractive to land one. It was as if being younger made them higher quality item. Their own attractiveness seemed to be of no moment; youth being the golden ticket.

Second, that Baby Player apparently deemed me worthy of this ticket.

Finally, it had not occurred to him that I did not want to date someone younger than me. It did not register to him that women usually date older men for a reason. Maturity levels, experience, money; there are countless reasons, but none of this seemed relevant to Baby Player. The sole reason, in his opinion, for most women not to date a younger man was that they were not ‘hot enough’ to do so.

Later on that week I relayed the conversation to Post Twat, who sat patiently as I explained my thought processes to him. He listened attentively as I detailed the inferences in this statement and the connotations that could be derived from it. I referred to the language; the use of the word enough as if there was a level to be achieved before one could enter into the toy-boy regime. I referred to the tone of the statement; the lack of doubt showing that it did not occur to him that I might not want to go for a younger man. I concluded that this was a fascinating insight into the mind and opinions of Baby Player.

To all this Posh Twat waited tolerantly before turning to me and saying, “Hun, Baby Player is younger than you. I think he wants to sleep with you.”

“Oh.”

Oh...

That hadn’t occurred to me.

Choices - A Short Story

I didn’t mean to be this way. I just am. Well that’s not true; I don’t have to do this. I could choose not to. I could go get help, but I don’t want to. I want to kill her. I want to. I choose to.
I sit in my car, watching her. She has shopping, and she is struggling to get in her door. Ah, she’s dropped her keys; I could have guessed that would happen, she does that a lot. She dropped something on six different occasions last Monday; I consult my notes, yes, six different items.

She’s put her shopping on the ground now, bending over to get her keys, her underwear peeps out over her jeans, a thong. Slut. She deserves what she’s gonna get. I look into the rear view mirror, it’s getting dark but I can still see. I see my own brown eyes.

You will go into that flat and you will do what you know you are going to do. You know you want her, you know she deserves it. You know what’s right. You know about her. You have made notes. You have watched her. You know what she is. You know she is a sinner. You open the door of your car, you step out, and you walk towards her. You are gonna cut her, watch her bleed, you’ll see. You will see it when she’s dead, you’ll see. It will be there, you’ll see.

I get out of the car and walk across the road. She has located her keys, they were under the bush. I could have told her that, she kicked them there when she tried to catch them. I saw her.

“Hold the door, please.”

She looks up, smiles. Whore.

“I do live here, fourth floor,” I say.

“That’s ok, I believe you!” She laughs, and pushes the door with her shoulder.

“Well you can never tell, the world is full of crazies these days.” I smile, charming. Yes. Good. “Do you want some help? The lift’s broken isn’t it?”

“Ummm, yeah it is.” Of course it is, you told your friend on the phone yesterday. “If you don’t mind, that would be great.”

I take a bag, the heaviest one. There is wine in it. Drunken Bitch.

I smile. “No problem!” And follow her up the stairs.



A boy is crouched in his garden; he is at the back by the shed. His mother walks towards him from the house; she can’t yet see what he is doing.

“Sweetie, you have to come inside now. Your dinner’s ready.” She is wearing an apron and her hair is honey blonde.

“In a minute,” he mutters.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he calls not looking; he is still crouched over something, using his hands.

“Well if you heard me why aren’t you coming then? It’s getting cold. Bring Monster with you, I’ll feed him too while I am at it.”

The mother turns and goes back into the house leaving the kitchen door open. She is humming to herself and opening a tin of dog food as the boy enters.

She turns, “It’s on the table, I...”

The boy is covered in blood; he is holding a small furry dog in his arms. The dog is dead.

He stares at his mother, “but I don’t like broccoli.”



“This is me.”

She flicks her hair as she approaches the door, and jingles her keys. She shoulder opens the door and steps inside, putting her bag down and reaching for the one I carried. I hand it to her.

“Thanks again,” she smiled. Slag.

She looks away for a second and then looks back at me, surprised. My foot was in the door so she was unable to shut it. I put one hand over her mouth and push her back into the flat, then with my other hand I grasp her throat and cut off her air supply. She struggles; she squeaks and squeals into my hand and beats at my arms with her tiny fists, but it was no use. I feel her getting weaker as her brain shuts down, then I let her breath again as she slumps into my arms.

There, there.

I pick her up and kick the door shut behind me, going into her bedroom, I lay her gently down on the bed and I start to get ready. I close all the curtains in the flat and turn off the lights. I find some candles in a cupboard and light them, to make it nicer. Then I push all the furniture back against the walls and create a big space in the living room. In the middle I put a chair.

You will see soon. It is nearly time. You put a chair there, yes, and you put her in it, yes; not too gently, she does not deserve such treatment. You bind her hands, good, and now her feet, yes! You go to the kitchen, looking, looking, ah, you have found it. Knives...



It is a school corridor; a tall handsome boy waits outside an office. His face is bored and subtly derisive; he clearly does not want to be there. He scuffs his feet and smiles ruefully at two boys that walk past, one of them mouths park -later at him and he nods.

“Mr Dawson, you can come in now.”

The boy goes in; he is maybe sixteen years old. There is a plaque on the front of the desk; it says Guidance Counsellor on it, a man in glasses sits behind it, steepling his fingers,

“Sit down, Dawson.” He does as he is told. “Do you know why you are here?”

The boy shrugged, his expression is polite but neutral

“Well, Miss Parker has left the school, you were aware? Yes? Well, there has been talk. She is being sent away, her family are insisting...Well, she is gone, anyway.” The man stared over his glasses at the boy. “They are going away for a while, it seems.”

“What this has to do with me, sir?” The boy looked into the man’s eyes without flinching.

“Miss Parker is suffering from an event. She is suffering from a ra... an incident that occurred earlier this week.”

The boy cocked his head to one side. “Oh my, that’s terrible. Is something being done?”

“She is refusing to name her assailant. I have been talking to some people from the night; they say that she was last seen leaving with you. Did you... Did you see anything?”

The man regarded the boy, searching for a reaction.

The boy shook his head. “No sir, nothing.”



She is waking up, she moans a little. I shiver. The knives clink in my hands. Her face starts to register the situation, confusion, understanding then fear.

She struggles in her bonds; her strap falls down over one shoulder. Slut.

You will not fall for that. You will not fall for this Jezebels charms.

“Hello,” I say quietly.

She whimpers.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispers, “it’s not too late. I... I won’t, I won’t tell anyone. We can keep this just between us.”

I lick my lips and kneel by her, I look into her face.

“You don’t have to do this, it’s not too late. It’s not too late to stop.”

I laugh. “So I have a choice?”

“Yes.” She cried out on relief, she was shaking, the chair shivers with her. Her breath coming in short rapid gasps and her eyes rolling in her head, like a skittish horse.

“No. I don’t.”



A young man is standing by an open grave in a black suit, a casket lies in the ground but is yet uncovered; he is holding a white lily. The other mourners have long since gone but one other man stands behind him.

“I know you are there.” The young man said, he pushed his hair out of his eyes, he has been crying. “I know who you are, too.”

The older gentleman shifts from foot to foot, he looks uncomfortable.

“Your Mother was an incredible woman. I... I loved her very much. You should know that, I mean no disrespect. We loved each other.”

The younger man turned from the grave to look at the older gentleman. He was slightly scruffy, not a man of means, his mourning suit was tired.

“My mother was married,” the younger man whispered.

“Your father... We didn’t mean to.” He twisted his hands. “It just happened.” He looked helpless. Pathetic. Broken.

The young man stared into the eyes of his mother’s lover. He stared into the eyes of an adulterer and saw his mothers sins reflected in them

“Whore.”



I stand and walk over to the girl. She starts crying, sobbing, a dry racking noise. It was unproductive, no tears just raw emotions coming from her. I trace my fingers through her hair, it was soft, my mother’s hair was blonde, this girl’s hair was dark, but no matter.

I admire the colours in it, coppers and gold and chocolate.

I cut some off, a chunk from the left side. She cries out in shock.

I smell it, it is good.

“Please...”

No good begging, begging never got anyone anywhere. Begging is just another way of asking, and people who ask don’t get. I want never gets.

You have to take what you need.

“Please, don’t. Why are you doing this? Why me?”

I sigh. “Questions, questions, questions. Don’t you know we don’t decide these things? We are who we are. There is no choice in the matter.”

You will do it now, enough talk. You cut her now.

I hold the knife in my hand and draw one lean stroke from one side of her throat to another.

You see?

Ex

I remember the first time I realised that my Ex had issues with food. What I didn’t know at the time was what that meant for me and him. I remember the musky sweetness of his flat and the way his face darkened as he told me; but I didn’t really realise.


I was younger then.

I didn’t understand that in order to love someone else you need to love yourself. I heard someone say once that if you don’t like yourself then anyone who does is ultimately deemed a fool in their eyes; and who wants to go out with a fool?

I remember watching him look at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and all I could think of at the time was that he was mine, but then I was seeing the world with sex-tinted glasses. I missed the calculating and appraising way he viewed himself, twisting this way and that so to gain a better vantage point.

He would run his hands alone the contours of his perfectly flat stomach and say “I’m gonna go to the gym later.”

“Ok.” I would reply, thinking how healthy he was.

Then he would look at me.

“Why are you eating again?”

“I’m hungry.”

He would just shake his head, and then distract me and remove it later.

I often wonder what he is doing now; if he is ok; if he is happy. I hope he is happy, but then I also hope he is better. Anyone can convince themselves they are happy, so I guess I hope he is well.

He told me that he was able to make himself sick just by wanting to. If he felt like he had eaten too much he would just get rid of it. You know that bloated feeling you get when you are full? He didn’t like that.

I can’t even make myself sick by shoving my fist down my throat so the notion that one can think themselves sick is completely alien to me. Not to mention a waste, there are children starving in Africa you know? Or at least that’s what I was told when I didn’t want to finish my dinner.

It was no big deal though, he didn’t do it very often, and then only if he felt uncomfortable.

And I believed him.

As I said, I was younger then.

I should have known better though, when he asked me to keep it from everyone, even his friends. No one knew and I was the only one he had ever told.

I wonder if this is still the case?

Not my problem anymore I guess, he has people that care for him; I’m just not one of them anymore. Sounds harsh doesn’t it? Life and people move on, cliché but true.

All I think about now is whether or not I should have told someone about his occasional habit. Did they know? Would they ever know? Has he stopped? In keeping my promise, even after a messy break-up, was I hurting or helping?

Or was I making a big deal out of nothing? I am no expert, and when people feel nauseous they are sick. Why does there have to be a line on the ground? ‘Stand this side if you are normal, but if you vomit more the government quota allows we are pushing you over onto the disorder side.’

Hell, even I have had food poisoning, you look like shit and feel worse but there is no denying that being sick makes you feel better. I have also known people to make themselves sick when they have drunk too much, two fingers down the back of the throat and the world stops spinning long enough to get home.

One man’s solution is another man’s disorder.

So where is the line?

And who is fooling who?