Sixteen years old

I am tired of being fat. It is exhausting.

Walking up and down the stairs is hard because I get out of breath from just a single stair case. I don’t like being tired all the time.

I’m Tired Of Being Tired.

So I decided to go on a diet.

I wanted to lose weight really fast, but I didn’t know what I was doing. I went on the internet, and found a lot of websites with great advice, that really wasn’t but I had no idea.

As long as I got the results, how could I ever know?

So I started to learn about basic health care, and what to avoid, and what to eat, and how often to exercise. It was going so well, I lost five pounds, but it wasn’t fast enough. So I decided to try more and more things.

I stopped wearing a jacket because I learned that the body expends calories when it tries to warm itself up. I took cold showers, and drank coffee, because caffeine is a natural appetite suppressant.

I ate very little, and did diets with catchy names and themes. I traded advice with online friends who needed tips and tricks as well. I kept a little notebook, and was very detailed.

Soon I was a true expert. I would wake up in the morning and eat four egg whites(40), coffee with Splenda and cream(55), and feel absolutely great! Lunch was never to be had, and dinner was usually water(0), some kind of strange salad(200), and if I was feeling daring, some bacon(125) was added as well.

It worked and I was so excited. I had lost thirty pounds! Thirty! I had never lost that much weight in my life, and I was so proud of myself. Two months of hard work had paid off.

I was still Way Too Big, but I knew if I kept going then I would finally be Just Right very soon.

The next day, during lunch, I decided to tell all my friends the good news. I had lost thirty one pounds, and I was amazed, and couldn’t wait until I could feel better.

There was an awkward silence.

I immediately knew that no one believed me. I knew that I was so big that no one could tell, but the number on the scale did not lie. I was upset. One of my friends, Jack, told me, “I think you should wait a bit longer first, and then maybe try harder.”

I didn’t eat lunch at school anymore to save money, and I didn’t like the oily food anyway either. I didn’t eat dinner because what Jack said made me so upset.

I tried to learn about more things I could do, and then I learned about fasting. I decided three days would be good, not to hurt myself, and then I would drink some soup and be careful for a few days.

I didn’t want to do anything dangerous after all.

On my third day, I finished my fast. I was famished. I had never been so excited to come home, and eat a sandwich! The bread(235) in the kitchen was golden brown, and soft. The cheese(160) was sublime, and the butter(84) made my mouth drool upon sight.

I was feeling so bad, as I hadn’t eaten a sandwich for such a long time. They weren't filling for me, and the butter was bad for me, after having nothing but water(0), TUMS, and black coffee(0) for three days.

That sandwich was my teenage rebellion, and I was ready to break all the rules.

My mother was in the kitchen, large enough to fit a couch, a TV and a computer, along with the rest of the kitchen. She sat on the couch, watching me make my sandwich, and decided to speak up.

“I am quite worried about you Dead Name. You’ve been eating a lot lately.”

I look at her and then I realize she doesn’t know anything about me.

I haven’t eaten in three days.

I throw the sandwich in the trash can.

That night I dream of waffles, and I wake up biting my pillow.

On the fifth day she notices and I refuse to eat out of spite. I am a horrible child. I know it. My Mother knows it. Everyone knows it. I am petty and I will win this imaginary fight.

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I go to sleep that night and dream of Candy Land.

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I have never been so excited to see food. This was better than the magical sandwich made of gold and cheese. This was everything I needed.

I was not afraid of this dream. How could I be?

The yellow brick road was not brick, but yellow Peeps and dyed marshmallows. The grass was green licorice, and the trees were tall candy canes. I looked into the sky, and saw cotton candy clouds.

I hoped it would rain soon, hoping that I would get something even more delicious. I didn’t know where I was, but I knew I didn’t want to leave. How could anyone?

As I walked down the yellow road, I met a nice old man. I stopped to ask him for directions. He was peculiar in stature, but he was nonetheless still polite.

His body was made of marshmallows, and he had striped peppermint buttons. He had a monocle, a tophat, and a candy cane cane. He was more than happy to give me directions, and lead me to Candy Castle.

We would never go to Candy Castle.

When I bent down to hug him, I got stuck to his body. He laughed, and I laughed, and he told me, It’s okay, you’re such a nice young lady anyway.

I tried to pry myself loose, but I couldn’t. The old Marshmallow Man continued to laugh, and said, this happens so often, don’t worry about it. Everything was so funny, and the more I struggled the more I got entangled into his soft and sweet body.

I remembered that he was candy. The world was candy. I wondered if I myself was made of candy as well. I started to lick, and then my hunger returned. Nervously I took a nibble, not wanting to hurt the old Marshmallow Man.

Oh, that tickles, he said. Be careful there.

Emboldened, I started to bite into him, and his laughs became uncomfortable. I didn’t care. I was hungry. I didn’t even like marshmallows, but he was the closest victim. If not him, then the next candy man I would have crossed paths with.

The more I bit into him, the more he screamed.

No joy was left in Candy Land.

He screamed in agony and pleaded with me to stop. He told me I was such a nice young lady, and this made me even angrier. I was not nice, and I was definitely not a lady. The cotton candy clouds turned dark, and thunder rumbled above.

I tried to cover the Marshmallow Man’s mouth as I bit into him. His screaming was loud, and he was interrupting my meal. I didn’t like someone taking my food from me, and I started To Get High, off of not just the sugar, but his screams.

No one could bully me in Candy Land.

No one could tell me that I ate too much in Candy Land.

He cried for his mother. I wondered how Marshmallow Man had a mother. Was it the Gumdrop Fairy?

He cried for his daughter, his grandchildren, and for Candy God, as I finally tore through his arm, exposing his candy bones. They were made of pixy sticks, and I grinned at the ridiculousness of it all.

His tears were sweet as well. It was blue, and tasted like my favorite flavor of Jolly Ranchers. Marshmallow Man still tried to fight, but it was no use. I was younger and bigger than him. He couldn’t win.

I had eaten my way off him by now, but I wanted more.

I always wanted more.

This wasn’t The Good Stuff, but I told myself it would be okay once I arrived at Candy Castle, and could massacre more law abiding candy men. I broke his pixy stick bones, and his screams echoed through Candy Cane forest.

He asked me why I would do such a thing, and I replied, “I’m hungry.”

Through his tears, he informed me that they had plenty of vegetables to go around.

I balked at the very idea of eating vegetables in this wonderful land of candy men that I could tear up and consume. There was a valid alternative that I could eat, and I could continue my diet, undisturbed, but vegetables?

Never.

Nobody would get hurt, and at worst, the Doughnut Police might give me a few years. But it wasn’t about the food anymore. I wanted Marshmallow Man to suffer. To hurt.

It’s supposed to hurt anyway.

Gumdrops rained down from the sky, and now Candy Cane Forest was dark. Not much was left of Marshmallow Man, not even his hat. I was pleasantly surprised to learn it was made of chocolate.

He hung on to consciousness as I sat on top of him, his remains sticking to my hands, arms, hair, and the seat of my pants. Marshmallow Man again asked me why I was doing this. He wanted to know before he died, so his death would have meaning.

“Sacrifices Must Be Made.”

He died knowing his death was meaningless.

My heart raced as the gumdrops rained down faster, and the lightning lit up the dark. I could have him all, and no one could stop me. I was the strongest one here. Not Mother.

I woke up.

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The more I thought about Candy Land, the more I was worried that something was wrong with me. I knew it was not a real man, but his death felt very real. He cried for those he loved, and I wondered how my brain could create an entire personality and family for Marshmallow man.

I told my friends, worried that I had some kind of subconscious issues.

They thought it was hilarious.

I told my coworker, and she laughed as well.

No one was worried about my dream, that I had murdered a sentient thing for food, and I knew that I was being irrational. Yet there was this nagging feeling that it wasn’t about the food.

It was never about the food.

I don’t eat marshmallows anymore.