Short Stories 3.

There comes a point when you have to let go, whether it’s a person, people, friends, family, situations, food, your body. The idea of control is an illusion, a complete fallacy. Generally speaking, the things we attempt to control end up controlling us and can become the very downfall of all we intend.


They were calling for a blizzard and I was packing up my dorm to move to towards the storm. I had already decided, signed on the dotted line, withdrawn from school, to pursue what I didn’t yet know and couldn’t find in a classroom.

“Where are you going? So basically you’re becoming a nun?” I heard on the other line.

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll find out more and let you know. I’ve got to go and get on the road.”

In his silence I could hear him calculating what this meant. He thought I was never coming back.

Damn right, I had no intents.


Formerly, in years past, I had been sent and dragged to places like this. Now of my own volition I was on a mission, and this time it was finally my decision. I wasn’t being force fed some kind of doctrine.

What’s this have to do with food and exercise? Everything. I was controlling each sphere, from relationships, food, and body, and the results were clearly seen. Disastrous doesn’t adequately describe it. I was crushed, finally crushed, so I tossed up my hands and white flag. I had no idea of what lay ahead, and I let go of every single thing and person I held.

This was the moment in time I began transforming, more rapidly than I or any of my mates could believe.


“You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met. I can’t believe you left and aren’t coming back when your parents are sick like this,” each word whipped my insides with painful lashes.

Anger burned hot in my face, and I thought I tasted blood from biting my tongue. I wrote song after song about this moment. My most trusted friend and every word they said still burns like a hot iron in my mind.

You still don’t know how much I loved you, then and to this day. I won’t tell you what you can’t or refuse to hear. I had to let go again here.

another day and age previously

“Are you gonna eat that?” I nudged my fork toward her plate, laughing.

We both knew I was joking. There was no such thing as food sharing at this place. She laughed too, but we quieted humor’s hums when threatening glares of disdain came from the meal monitor of the day.

This was the same day I earned a demerit for rallying the girls to wear orange jumpsuits or the like to breakfast. It warranted more than a sentence. I was on the wanted list in this place, but I couldn’t resist, because I knew laughter is medicine and breaks people out of internal prisons.

I could refuse to eat my food. But I let go of every ingredient and calorie I didn’t know with the help of laughter, but more so the people who sat next to and across from me. I fixed my gaze on the vision of her pale face taped with a yellow feeding tube, her hollowed, darkened eyes staring blankly at her plate. I chewed my uncalculated food fighting for her too.

I wish I could scream, “Pick up your fork and fight!” But the roots of that tree were deep in seat and weren’t dismantled so easily. So I took my own command, and stabbed a damn carrot.

Orange colored my day in all the ways.


These are my short stories.

To be continued.

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