Title: The story of my body
by Roisin from London | in writing, fiction
A GIRL SITS ON A WOODEN CHAIR IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STAGE, SHE IS NOT FAT BUT SHE IS NOT THIN EITHER, SHE SLOWLY AND TEASINGLY UNWRAPS A CHOCOLATE BAR, SHE BITES IT, AND SAVOURING THE CHOCOLATE IN HER MOUTH SHE CHEWS SLOWLY, CLOSING HER EYES AND TILITING HER HEAD BACK IN MOCK ECSTASY, THE SPOTLIGHT FOCUSES DIRECTLY ON HER, THE REST OF THE STAGE IS BLACK, SHE SWALLOWS AND SITS UP STRAIGHT IN HER CHAIR.
Girl: I wish I was thin, but I like food, my friend... says no to all food [SHE TAKES ANOTHER BITE OF CHOCOLATE] she must be miserable. A body tells a story, like here, [SHE STANDS UP AND LIFTS HER TOP UP SLIGHTLY REVEALING A PINK SCAR ON HER TUMMY SHE TRACES IT WITH HER FINGER] this is where I had my appendix taken out when I was six. Oh! And here [SHE LIFTS UP HER FRINGE TO SHOW HER FOREHEAD] the doctor who did mum's c-section accidentally cut into my forehead. I'm size fourteen, I have boobs, and hips, and there's days when I wish I could get a knife and cut the fat away, but when I'm older ill hoist my child up on these hips, and laugh at the skinny ones who can't bear the weight of their kids. Bodies tell stories; leave them be.
THE LIGHT FADES OUT, WHEN THEY COME BACK ON SHE HAS VANISHED AND AN EMPTY WRAPPER LYING ON TOP OF A FASHION MAGAZINE SITS IN THE CHAIR.
The tribulations of wanting to be thin, but not wanting to hold oneself back too much. Its a conflict of interests, for to constantly be restraining yourself must be a nightmare, but at the same time the pressure to be thin is something most people relate to all too well.
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