The It.

There was a time when I had a family. Friends. People I thought I could trust.
Funny how quickly that fell apart.


One mistake. One tiny peanut of a mistake, growing slowly to the size of a watermelon. Or, at least, that’s how big it will be. Eventually.


The first miniscule lump, and my entire life fell apart.


It wasn’t even my fault. I didn’t ask for this. For it.


The first little bump, and suddenly I’m sleeping on the side of the road, my phone silent when it ought to be pinging with people worrying about me. Asking questions.


I haven’t even got one snide remark about my level in society.
I’m stuck telling my life story to a stupid pigeon. He’s the only one who’ll listen. At least, I think it’s a he. I can’t really tell, with pigeons.


Where am I, pigeon? I’m outside a Walmart, hiding in the overgrown grass as happy families zip by in their fancy cars, my hair sticking to my skull with grease. Why haven’t I been to school in a while? Well, I’m afraid they don’t let skanks into school. Can’t say I’m a bit sorry about that, honestly.


I shoo the pigeon away. I don’t like males anymore, anyway.


I didn’t even want to, I tell the sky. It’s just something you’re supposed to do. That’s what everyone said, at any rate. I swear I didn’t want to. It’s just peer pressure, see? Turns out it’s a dangerous thing, like all of those cat-hair-covered old ladies used to say in middle school. I bet they’ll be using me as an example soon enough, like all those poor boys and girls who got sucked into doing something they didn’t want to through peer pressure. Peer pressure sucks, you know? I glare at the clouds floating serenely by. I suppose you don’t know, being clouds and all. I wish I was a cloud, instead of a messed-up girl with a messed-up life sitting on the side of a messed-up Walmart that doesn’t even have any decent bathrooms.


Who doesn’t have hand dryers in a bathroom? Those brown paper towels don’t do junk.


That dumb boy left me, just like everyone else. Can’t say it’s all that much of a disappointment, honestly. He wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, anyhow.


Guess I was stupid, too. I mean, what smart girl would let this happen?


Turns out my parents were right, after all. Good grades are great and all, but if you don’t have common sense you’re going nowhere. Well, they weren’t one-hundred percent correct- I’m somewhere, all right. Walmart. Not anywhere I’d want to be, but it’s a somewhere. Google maps says so.


This really sucks. I bet it’s going to be all deformed and stuff. Doesn’t even kick much, not that I’m complaining. I guess maybe it’s just not big enough yet.


I want it to just disappear. I thought about… well, I thought about doing something horrible, but I’m not brave enough- or stupid enough- to try something that awful. Not like getting rid of it is going to do anything anyway. Either way, I messed up, big time.


I pick wildflowers, their petals dying and wilted. They look like me: all sad and lost and confused. They seem to ask me, Cara, what are you doing here? Why don’t you leave, get help? I stroke them sadly. Because, little flowers, I’m not meant to be anywhere but outside a Walmart with no hand dryers. I’ll stay here forever, even when I’m dead and gone. I bet I’ll even stick around afterwards to haunt the next stupid little girl who makes mistakes like me. Surely there will be more. There’ll always be more.


I lay back amongst the dirt and broken beer bottles, my nasty hair fanning out around my grimy face. My stomach lurches. I lay my fist, still wrapped around the little flowers, on top of where it is.


Because, little flowers, if I get help, they won’t let me die.






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