Nervosa

By
It had been three days since Kyle had left the chair. His gaunt frame complimented his hollow cheeks and caved-in stomach. His ribs jutted outward and threatened to tear through his skin at any moment. Kyle's head rested on the faded pillow splotched with brown dots where he had wiped his bleeding nose two days before.
Kyle turned his hands over to see blotches of orange where the Cheetos had stained his fingertips. The bag, he noticed, was still sitting by his left foot, Chester Cheetah smirking up at him beneath the bright yellow logo.
The TV in front of him showed nothing but a sea of static, as it had been doing for the entirety of Kyle's fast.
His last weigh-in had revealed astonishing results; he was a mere 43 pounds and dropping. After he had stepped off the scale and the digital numbers reset to zero, Kyle made his decision: this would be his final fast.
The thirteen missed messages on the answering machine next to him glared as if to say, How could you leave all your messages unanswered, sitting there on your deathbed?
Kyle was completely still. The packaged food which sat inside the kitchen cabinets no longer seemed edible to him. He couldn't even remember the sensation of eating. It was abstract. Revolting.
The teeth within his mouth felt rugged and over-sized. Uncut diamonds glimmering in a darkened mine.
His vomit, of which three pints had been produced, had rotted the inside of his mouth, causing tooth after tooth to drown in vats of deep green acidity.
Every bone in his body was frail, and his legs and arms carried purple bruises of when Kyle had accidentally bumped some object passing through the house.
In a sudden rush of heat, Kyle's shoulders jumped and a river of vomit escaped his mouth, plastering his shorts, skin, and the hardwood floor below him.
His heart now felt as if it were urging him to die, rising like a balloon, inflating in his throat, choking Kyle to death. Harder and harder it thudded, its erratic rhythms like a wordless chant, prompting him to evacuate his body.
Kyle made a choking sound; another wave of green threatened to explode at any second. He forced it down, whatever it was, and closed his eyes, forcing himself to be calm.
Gripping the edge of the chair's armrest, Kyle bowed his head
(thud thud thud)
and did his best
(THUD THUD THUD)
not to throw up.

...THUNK.





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