𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐜𝐤

10

you rose from bed at dawn, body weak and brittle.

i watched as you followed your daily ritual of stripping off your garments and stepping on the bathroom scale, anxiously waiting for the digits.

disappointment bloomed on your ugly features.

it's not low enough.
it's not low enough to eat breakfast.

i watch as you slip into a baggy shirt,

crouch to the floor to begin the infinite rounds of sit-ups, crunches, leg lifts, and planks for consistent hours.

and what a shame,

today you excluded the sets involving jumping.

your legs are too weak, you said, but that is yet just another one of your foul excuses.

pleasure filled your core as you relished the burning sensation of demolished calories.

you sighed of relief and fulfillment once completing the session, soaking in the victorious feeling of control.

you anticipated dance practice with the boys at 8:30, another gold opportunity for burning extra digits.

you weighed yourself another time due to habit, fidgeting on the scale, standing on the body calculator longer than usual.

i knew what you were doing.

you were stalling.

because it was your time to shower.

procrastination.
you were pacing back and forth in the little room.
but it was eventual.

hurry up, and get over it will you?

i waited through many minutes of your mental prep and willpower before you finally undress and adjust the temperature.

and as expected, you switched off the lights before stepping in, making sure the water was ice cold.

because cold water burned extra calories.

you stood under the freezing daggers in the dark.

you hated showers, you circumvented them to a deep extent.

however it would be much unhygienic without one for a week.

you stood still, your body drenched, not exactly showering but simply mortified of even laying eyes let alone touching your body.

it was extreme discomfort, the idea of feeling the lumps of flesh and fat you so desperately yearned to get rid of.

the shower was rushed, 3 minutes tops.

you felt for the towel on the rack and enveloped yourself in its warmth, shivering more than usual.

you slipped in the casual attire you arranged yourself beforehand, the habitual baggy sweatshirt over a few layers beneath, blocking out the normal cold.

the cold is normal, hyuck— it's spring.
you're normal.

you switch the light once fully clothed, standing across the mirror, gazing at your reflection.

the same ugly, revolting, disgusting reflection.
you looked even worse than yesterday.

then again you look horrid almost every day, hyuck.

your hair was thinning, your complexion was pale.
dark circles hugged your weary eyes,
lips cracked, dehydrated,
and flaky skin, lacked of moisture—

it's normal, hyuck. young adults break out.

but i look so disgusting.

just why

why me, of all people

why couldn't i be like the other girls and boys

why did i have to be the one with this body

i hated it

i hated how i look

i hated the color of my skin

i hated the moles on my skin

i hated the shape of my nose

i hated the shape of my eyes

i hated the size of my lips

i hated the size of my hips

i hated the proportions of my body

i hated it

i hated everything

that's why you gotta be skinny, hyuck!

all the pretty people are thin, right?

it's the key to happiness—

it's the key to being accepted—

it's the key to winning our game.