There is a hole in her abdomen that is perfectly round, black, and the size of a volleyball. It grows lager every day; first it was the size of a pinball, then a golf ball, then a tennis ball. It reminds her of a black hole, sucking her very essence into itself, draining her physically and mentally. It hurts, but even in times of her greatest agony, everyone else looks away.

“It’ll go away soon,” said her mother a week ago.

It’s still there.

She googled it earlier, but couldn’t seem to find anything about similar cases, which is strange because everything is online nowadays.

Exasperated, she yells at her father later that night when he once again dismisses her pleas for medical attention.
“It’s eating me alive!”
“I know the feeling,” he retorts and turns back to his magazine.
“No, you don’t!” she wants to scream, but holds back because she knows what her father can be like when provoked.

A week later, she is more hole than person. She drives herself to the hospital, where all she gets are a receptionist who doesn’t look up and an “it’s quite normal for girls your age. You’ll learn how to live with it.”

To her parents’ dismay, a week later she is entirely gone.