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


I walk towards the kitchen, shaky hands, blurry sight. My parents would kill me if they knew I was dying again. I measure my portions in the pink bowl with the kittens marking the insides. They tell me how much to eat as the voices whisper in my head: “Are you really eating that?” “If you don’t eat, morning skinny lasts all day.” I want to scream for them to stop. But I can’t. Because they taught me how to be pretty and small. They hide behind the tiny pink cats and crawl in the growing space between my legs.




Luisa Avezum

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