In her shoes

The smoothie wasn’t smooth enough. Its fruity mixture didn’t taste right at all. She had ordered strawberry but it seemed more like kiwis. She got up to speak to the waiter, ready to direct all of her negative energy to him. She heard loud noises and stinging words coming out from the vicinity of her mouth. She saw the images of her terrible morning in the background. What she didn’t see was the young man’s face. His mouth was tightly drawn and his eyes were full of pain. When she finally looked at him, she saw herself standing there that morning – bearing another person’s angry rant.

Fitting in

She drank the glass of orange juice in two gulps. Then she grabbed her over-sized bag and pulled out a round compact. As she dabbed her face with powder, her mother looked with concern. She looked too thin these days. Her chest seemed to have deflated as well. The jeans and tee looked like they had been painted onto her body. She was sixteen years old but looked more like a ten year old from the neck down. Her face looked twenty five. That is what alarmed her. She had to stop her thoughts mid-way as she realised that the child hadn’t eaten anything solid in front of her in weeks. When she said as much, the reply came with a pink Revlon lipped smirk: Mom, I can’t get fat. Do you want me to have no friends at school? She walked out, slamming the door behind her, apples and meusli sat ignored on the big table.