prose: that anorexic boy

He was bound in chains locked by heartbreak, plastering smiles oh so fake everyday. Did anyone understand? No. They simply couldn’t comprehend that a boy, too, could sometimes need a helping hand. 

He looks into the mirror and sees a beast. He drags a blade across his wrist, wishing that the pain would cease. All he wanted was, at least, a few moments of relief. 

People would scoff and ignore, causing him to hurt more. He wanted to be skinny, but everyone thought it silly, that a boy could be anorexic. He reached his hands out for help, but nobody believed him as he felt his heart melt. 

They laughed at him, and soon he learnt to laugh along, trying to be strong as he pretended to belong.

He empties his plate into the bin, all the while thinking, ‘Why do people keep judging? Why do people keep stereotyping?” 

He needed help just as much as the girl next door, skinny to the core, telling herself she’d lose more weight and be lighter tomorrow. They reached out to her as they left him alone to fight as he grew weaker. 

Today he lies in a hospital bed, people around him with their eyes sore and red, full of sorrow and regret. Disastrous, the effects of anorexia were. His body simply couldn’t take it anymore. 

They hear the beeps of the heart monitor quicken, the doctors rush and watch his eyes dilate. Everyone is grief-stricken as the doctor solemnly mutters, “we were just a little too late”.



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