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3/2/05 05:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
minervasoloOkay, 'nother writing post! Wrote this in forty minutes. A few minor adjustments since, but otherwise I was happy with it as it was. Well, other people were, anyway. I might seriously extend it at some point, though I'm not sure where I could. Maybe just write something else with the same theme.
She had once heard, somewhere, that black was slimming, and now she was a kind of goth by default. She had dowdy black, and lacy black, and slinky black (she hated slinky black as it invariably became bulgy black) and her favourite, not black at all.
It was a stripy (vertical, of course) grey and russet dress, running from a slash neck to an A-line skirt, cutting off at the knees. It was a little too tight to walk quickly in, but she didn’t care. The heels were too high to walk quickly in, and the hat too large, and the suitcase too unwieldy.
She was trying to haul the huge thing up the stairs at the station, which led to the bridge over the lines and towards the exit. The battle to get it on and off trains had been bad enough, but this was ridiculous. It was too large to balance on any single step, and too heavy to carry up all of them. Her heels were giving her back pain, and her dress was in danger of splitting as she climbed the stairs. This was the third attempt, and she was going for the backwards method now. Facing down the stairs, back up a step, haul the case, up another step before the weight sent it toppling back down and took you with it...
A voice came from above.
“Um, do you need a hand with that?”
She didn’t see him at first. Black on black vertical stripes. Why hadn’t she thought of that? But he was thin anyway. Skinny. Ugh.
He stepped around her and took the bottom of the suitcase, heaving it up like a weight lifter. Together they carried the beast up the flight of stairs. Panting and gasping, she sat on the case while he leant heavily on the banister. They exchanged sympathetic looks.
“It’s my books,” she explained awkwardly. “Thanks for the help.”
He waved her thanks away.
“So, um.” She stared at her knees. Her dress had bunched up around her waist, but she couldn’t pull it down without standing up or performing some strange and possibly erotic wiggle. Besides, she had nice knickers on. Oh god, what if people were looking? What would they think of her? She didn’t want people to think she’d chosen her knickers with the thought of them being looked at in mind.
He fidgeted. That was probably why he was thin, she decided. She’d heard fidgeting burnt a lot of calories. This allowed her to blame her mother and her school teachers every time she stepped on the scales. After all, they’d been the ones to constantly tell her to sit still.
“No one else helped me,” she said. “It was hell getting it on the train, through those tiny doors and all, but no one else offered to lend a hand. It’s like a lost art.”
“You were embarrassed?” he asked, voice squeaking slightly.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “I just wished no one could see me.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t do that! You should never do that!” he said, sounding almost panicked. “You wouldn’t really want to be invisible, would you?” he added pleadingly.
She turned to look at him, properly, and found herself immediately looking away. She tried again. Was he thin? She wasn’t sure now. It had to be later than she thought, because the station was dark. She could barely see him in the shadows, wearing all that black. She always got nervous wearing black at night in case someone ran her over or something, but oddly she also felt more comfortable. Maybe that was the same for him.
He was squirming under her gaze, like she’d pinned him there. He didn’t seem used to being held by a look.
“Thanks again for your help,” she said. “I think I can manage the rest of the way. Wouldn’t want you to miss your train.”
“Train?” he sounded confused. When she looked over he’d already disappeared, so she figured he must have just forgotten where he was. He hadn’t said goodbye or anything, but she felt she could probably forgive him his rudeness.
In getting up she almost tripped a business man, which made her blush furiously. He didn’t seem to notice. Some days she just wanted to sink into the ground. Most days, actually. It seemed like every part of her was constantly trying to attract unwanted attention. Her hair always stuck out at odd angles, and her weight had definitely attracted too much attention at school. She wasn’t even what you’d call fat, which she resented the most as she trudged across the busy bridge. Her feet were too big, and her voice too deep, and absolutely all of her was too clumsy.
She stared in horror as the case bumped down the stairs towards the exit. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it burst open. Oh god, her underwear. Her underwear everywhere. Mortification was too mild a word.
No one offered to help. No one laughed, which was nice, but no one offered to help either. She felt certain she could feel their stares as she collected her things hurriedly. People were walking over her shirts and kicking her books about like they didn’t even see them. Perhaps they felt she deserved it.
When her dress split, right up the back, it was the final straw. She sat in the still open suitcase and tried not to cry.
Eventually she pulled herself together, pulled her suitcase together, and set off towards the exit. Her ticket had disappeared somewhere in the middle of London, something else that had set her wishing herself invisible as the ticket collector threatened to throw her off the train. Luckily, she had kept the receipt (an old habit), and the final hurdle of the day was facing the man by the barriers and begging him to let her free.
“Excuse me?” she hovered politely. “Excuse me?”
His only movement was to turn the page of the newspaper her was reading.
“Um, excuse me, sir,” she said.
He turned around wearily, but as she opened her mouth to explain the situation he began talking to the woman behind her.
“Um, I’m sorry,” she said, sharper than she’d intended, “but I have been waiting for some time here.”
He let the woman behind her through the barrier, and began talking to the man who had been behind that woman.
“Um, hi? Hello?” She waved right in front of him. “God, is this really the face of British Rail these days?”
When that got no response, she stamped her foot petulantly and turned to storm off, intending to clout as many people as possible with her luggage. The dramatic exit was somewhat marred when the stamp broke the heel of her boot and sent her toppling sideways into the barrier.
It hurt. She hurt. She sat up slowly, extremely aware that she was probably holding people up. Still, her side was throbbing, and fast movements made it worse. She felt a little dizzy, too. Would the ticket man ignore her if she asked for medical assistance? God, her head was spinning. She lent back against her case for a moment, wondering if this was a result of the brightest blush in history, all the blood rushing to her head.
She noticed woozily that the barrier had the same pattern as her dress. How nice. People must think she’d dressed in camouflage or something. People must be staring at the huge girl sitting right in the way of everyone, staring at the barrier she had chosen to dress up as. She fell backwards with a thud as her case was removed. She could hear the attendant talking about it as lost luggage. She blinked up at them. Couldn’t they see her, lying there at their feet? Who else was the damn whale of a bag going to belong to?
No one else seemed to notice this discrepancy either. In fact, no one was paying the situation any attention at all. People were walking right past her, right over her, even.
Right through her.
She had once heard, somewhere, that black was slimming, and now she was a kind of goth by default. She had dowdy black, and lacy black, and slinky black (she hated slinky black as it invariably became bulgy black) and her favourite, not black at all.
It was a stripy (vertical, of course) grey and russet dress, running from a slash neck to an A-line skirt, cutting off at the knees. It was a little too tight to walk quickly in, but she didn’t care. The heels were too high to walk quickly in, and the hat too large, and the suitcase too unwieldy.
She was trying to haul the huge thing up the stairs at the station, which led to the bridge over the lines and towards the exit. The battle to get it on and off trains had been bad enough, but this was ridiculous. It was too large to balance on any single step, and too heavy to carry up all of them. Her heels were giving her back pain, and her dress was in danger of splitting as she climbed the stairs. This was the third attempt, and she was going for the backwards method now. Facing down the stairs, back up a step, haul the case, up another step before the weight sent it toppling back down and took you with it...
A voice came from above.
“Um, do you need a hand with that?”
She didn’t see him at first. Black on black vertical stripes. Why hadn’t she thought of that? But he was thin anyway. Skinny. Ugh.
He stepped around her and took the bottom of the suitcase, heaving it up like a weight lifter. Together they carried the beast up the flight of stairs. Panting and gasping, she sat on the case while he leant heavily on the banister. They exchanged sympathetic looks.
“It’s my books,” she explained awkwardly. “Thanks for the help.”
He waved her thanks away.
“So, um.” She stared at her knees. Her dress had bunched up around her waist, but she couldn’t pull it down without standing up or performing some strange and possibly erotic wiggle. Besides, she had nice knickers on. Oh god, what if people were looking? What would they think of her? She didn’t want people to think she’d chosen her knickers with the thought of them being looked at in mind.
He fidgeted. That was probably why he was thin, she decided. She’d heard fidgeting burnt a lot of calories. This allowed her to blame her mother and her school teachers every time she stepped on the scales. After all, they’d been the ones to constantly tell her to sit still.
“No one else helped me,” she said. “It was hell getting it on the train, through those tiny doors and all, but no one else offered to lend a hand. It’s like a lost art.”
“You were embarrassed?” he asked, voice squeaking slightly.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “I just wished no one could see me.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t do that! You should never do that!” he said, sounding almost panicked. “You wouldn’t really want to be invisible, would you?” he added pleadingly.
She turned to look at him, properly, and found herself immediately looking away. She tried again. Was he thin? She wasn’t sure now. It had to be later than she thought, because the station was dark. She could barely see him in the shadows, wearing all that black. She always got nervous wearing black at night in case someone ran her over or something, but oddly she also felt more comfortable. Maybe that was the same for him.
He was squirming under her gaze, like she’d pinned him there. He didn’t seem used to being held by a look.
“Thanks again for your help,” she said. “I think I can manage the rest of the way. Wouldn’t want you to miss your train.”
“Train?” he sounded confused. When she looked over he’d already disappeared, so she figured he must have just forgotten where he was. He hadn’t said goodbye or anything, but she felt she could probably forgive him his rudeness.
In getting up she almost tripped a business man, which made her blush furiously. He didn’t seem to notice. Some days she just wanted to sink into the ground. Most days, actually. It seemed like every part of her was constantly trying to attract unwanted attention. Her hair always stuck out at odd angles, and her weight had definitely attracted too much attention at school. She wasn’t even what you’d call fat, which she resented the most as she trudged across the busy bridge. Her feet were too big, and her voice too deep, and absolutely all of her was too clumsy.
She stared in horror as the case bumped down the stairs towards the exit. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it burst open. Oh god, her underwear. Her underwear everywhere. Mortification was too mild a word.
No one offered to help. No one laughed, which was nice, but no one offered to help either. She felt certain she could feel their stares as she collected her things hurriedly. People were walking over her shirts and kicking her books about like they didn’t even see them. Perhaps they felt she deserved it.
When her dress split, right up the back, it was the final straw. She sat in the still open suitcase and tried not to cry.
Eventually she pulled herself together, pulled her suitcase together, and set off towards the exit. Her ticket had disappeared somewhere in the middle of London, something else that had set her wishing herself invisible as the ticket collector threatened to throw her off the train. Luckily, she had kept the receipt (an old habit), and the final hurdle of the day was facing the man by the barriers and begging him to let her free.
“Excuse me?” she hovered politely. “Excuse me?”
His only movement was to turn the page of the newspaper her was reading.
“Um, excuse me, sir,” she said.
He turned around wearily, but as she opened her mouth to explain the situation he began talking to the woman behind her.
“Um, I’m sorry,” she said, sharper than she’d intended, “but I have been waiting for some time here.”
He let the woman behind her through the barrier, and began talking to the man who had been behind that woman.
“Um, hi? Hello?” She waved right in front of him. “God, is this really the face of British Rail these days?”
When that got no response, she stamped her foot petulantly and turned to storm off, intending to clout as many people as possible with her luggage. The dramatic exit was somewhat marred when the stamp broke the heel of her boot and sent her toppling sideways into the barrier.
It hurt. She hurt. She sat up slowly, extremely aware that she was probably holding people up. Still, her side was throbbing, and fast movements made it worse. She felt a little dizzy, too. Would the ticket man ignore her if she asked for medical assistance? God, her head was spinning. She lent back against her case for a moment, wondering if this was a result of the brightest blush in history, all the blood rushing to her head.
She noticed woozily that the barrier had the same pattern as her dress. How nice. People must think she’d dressed in camouflage or something. People must be staring at the huge girl sitting right in the way of everyone, staring at the barrier she had chosen to dress up as. She fell backwards with a thud as her case was removed. She could hear the attendant talking about it as lost luggage. She blinked up at them. Couldn’t they see her, lying there at their feet? Who else was the damn whale of a bag going to belong to?
No one else seemed to notice this discrepancy either. In fact, no one was paying the situation any attention at all. People were walking right past her, right over her, even.
Right through her.
