The following is a featured 100-word story from the June Writing Challenge.


The skin so sallow, eyes wide, full of so many words, words that can’t be spoken. I’d choke on them, you’d drown in them.  Hair that hangs to hide what it can.  My hands touching, poking, prodding, hating but trying so hard to make something acceptable. I’ll never like it, I’ll never be okay with it.  The reflection haunts me, grabs my insides, and twists hard.  I stand back and return to self-loathing some more. I pinch the imaginary fat.  I scratch at something that isn’t there. I scratch until I bleed, then I cry.  I crumple and begin again.





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