Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Self-Emaciating Love Child #4

Ann sat at her desk during her lunch break. She was fasting. She sat
with a small carton of grapefruit juice, which she cautiously drank
through a straw with two red stripes running vertically on it. She
called her new eating habits a fast when people asked why she had
stopped eating once an hour. Ann is hypoglycemic and generally needs
to eat exactly that frequently. She has devised a new, discrete way to
commit suicide. She is never going to eat again.

It will take some time, but the wait is worth the effort, Ann often
thinks to herself. No one will know the better; no one will feel
responsible or hurt when she exhausts herself. Ann likes to think of
death as a needed and prolonged nap. That is how it must feel, she
thinks.

While the office sits in the lunchroom, eating and talking and
laughing, Ann sits in her rolling chair, spinning around and around
over and over, inducing a continuation of lack of appetite. Ann has
always found extreme pride in her abilities of self-control. She
spins, eyes glossed, shaking ever so slightly. The laughter wafts down
the hall to her, reverberating in her hears, making her head buzz just
a little.

“Freak me out,” he said to her.

“What does that mean?”

“Give me head.”

Ann didn’t have any ambition to sleep with him. Her normal level of curiosity was not affecting her judgment. She felt as though she knew exactly how it would go. She knew she would run to the bathroom and weep afterwards, on the toilet, while taking a piss, with her head buried in her knees, which were wrapped with her abused, sex soiled panties. She wasn’t sure why she was going to do it anyways.

Just one more person, then I’m going to stop, Ann thought to herself.

Ann generally always went to bed an hour before she anticipated being tired enough for sleep. She liked to lie awake in the dark, and have varied fantasies about boys and self-destruction. Tonight, Ann thought about her last lover. She was fond of him. She lied on her back, with her hands on her breasts, imagining him grabbing her shoulders and shaking her violently, and slapping her small face viciously and repeatedly and saying to her while crying softly, “Stop this. Stop this. Stop this. I want you for me."

Ann’s stomach growled. She rolled over and fell asleep.

--------------------

For the record:

After posting this yesterday I received a rash of emails expressing concern for my well-being. Although the concern was appreciated, I would like to clarify in an official way that these character sketches are only vaguely based on myself if even at all. Worry not little baby bumble bees, this is fiction.

On a lighter note, I'm glad it freaked you all out.

P.S. Sorry Dad. But I guess this is what happens when you give your five-year-old daughter Camus to read on the school bus, and use Kafka for bedtime stories.

<3

19 comments:

Lyndall-O said...

I love these little sketches.

Also, your dad sounds ace.

jereme said...

People are funny.

I have a hard time relating to them.

I write about suicide, opiate addiction, overdosing, etc. and no one says anything to me.

Even if they did write "are you ok" it would have no lasting effect.

As popeye says, "I yam what I yam".

I enjoyed your writing. Hopefully, you won't feel the need to censor your work.

James said...

her dad, the good doctor, is quite ace.

Kendra Grant Malone said...

lyndall,

thanks. yeah, my dad is my best friend. he is rad . . .

jereme,

thanks for the non-censorship support. i was feeling badly about worrying people. its a little stressful when your doting father and a small handful of ex's (i keep very close with ALL my ex's) read your blog frequently. i have my suspicions that my grandparents read this as well. eak. but seriously thanks, its good to hear.

Kendra Grant Malone said...

james,

my dad asks about you all the time. he thinks youre an ace too.

Clark Baumgartner said...

DUDE!
The stranger is one of my favourite books!
Camus > all!
Metamorphosis by Kafka is alright too...,

Kendra Grant Malone said...

CLARK!!!!

those are the exact two books i was referencing!

aww. you are sooo my surrogate little bro. ferever.

no, you can never see my boobs, get your mind out of the gutter young man!

ellen frances idontlikeit said...

I'm looking forward to meeting your dad! He sounds pretty awesome.

Daniel Bailey said...

I wish I could create that much controversy.

Did you know that there's a Buddhist (I think Buddhist) sect that believes the only true form of suicide is to starve yourself to death due to the determination it takes?

Kendra Grant Malone said...

Daniel,

I wish I could marry one of those Buddhists.

I dont know if I would call it controversy. This is a good example of why I have been becoming increasingly interested in using a male pen name. I feel that because I am a woman, and a small girly one who likes lipstick, nail polish and all things gold and glittery, that I am overly protected from myself. Men often view women like me as prey and never a predator and it is frustrating. Also, I have extreme penis envy.

But alas, I have a pussy and tits. Cest la vie.

jereme said...

kendra,

You make me laugh. I coincedentally had an opposite conversation two nights ago with a friend.

I want to use a female pen name to attract readers. I know that men/boys are horny pervs and will be more apt to read/publish something I wrote if they believe me to be some hot chick.

And then there is the lesbian community that I could exploit.

Hopefully that didn't sound too misogynistic and more truthful.

In the same conversation I had with my friend the topic of vagina envy came up.

I so wish I had a vagina.

i would put so many things in it just for fun.

It would be my secret hiding place.

That would be glorious.

Kendra Grant Malone said...

jereme,

the grass is always greener i suppose . . .

man, if i had a penis, i would stick it in things all the time. its probably a blessing that i do not have one, i would probably loose control and rape someone. i dont think i could handle the responsibility of a penis.

i dont really hide things in my vagina per say. however, i stick shit in my cleavage all the time. as a matter of fact, my ipod is there right now.

other things you might find nestled between my tits:

keys, lighters, matches, cigarettes, pretty rocks, things i find on the ground, necklaces, faces. it is indeed my secret hiding place. i also burry things in the ground frequently. im not being ironic or sarcastic. yeah.

Daniel Bailey said...

Kendra, stick with your female name. The world needs good woman writers.

You should just start raping men (and maybe women too) with a strap-on. I am going to get arrested for this comment.

Kendra Grant Malone said...

Daniel,

i seriously heart you so much!

an ex of mine and i used to call it 'le rape' when we talked of women raping men, because the french made it feel more romantic and beautiful. fuck, we are all so fucked. i need to go to jail. lets be cell mates.

James said...

le rape, we did call it this though i think you came up with the term.

the world is thankful you were not born a male...it is now a far less traumatized place, indeed.

jereme said...

I feel bad for ballsacks.

No one ever says they wish they had a ballsack.

Or fuck i'm so jealous of that righteous sack.

Poor balls.

Daniel Bailey said...

oui... le rape...

it works.

Kendra Grant Malone said...

jereme,

that is soooo not true. i believe i had a conversation with brandon one evening about how i wanted balls, but i would likely tea bag anything. he sounded uncomfortable after i said this.

oh my god. this is what my blog has turned into.

smut.

geeze.

jereme said...

I think I would be most happy with a bagina; a hybrid vagina and ballsack.

then I could hide things and tea bag my friends when they get drunk and passout.

That would be awesome.

Teabagging for fun and profit - the new infomercial from kendra's blog.