Anorexia.

It's something you don't talk about. It's something that happens to broken people, not you. Something that doesn't happen to smart people, just those who are desperate to fit in with society's standards of beauty.

No one wants to talk about it, no one wants to tell the story.

So I will.

It starts out innocent enough--you want to lose a few pounds, get healthy. You stop eating junk food, you start looking at labels and counting calories. But things get ugly fast.

Now, you can't eat anything if you don't know exactly how many calories in it. Maybe you dump half your food in the trashcan when your parents aren't looking because it's too many calories, too many carbs, too much fat...

You finally cave in, have a couple pieces of chocolate or a pint of ice cream. You don't understand how you could fail like this. You realize how fat and ugly you are, your weakness and weak will.

Perhaps this cycle only repeats itself once before you correct it, or maybe this is a pattern that makes up your months, you weeks, your days...

You are only proud of yourself when you are strong. And that is when you're hungry, your stomach so empty it could be mistaken for a black hole in space.

Eating is a sign of failure, of weakness. And weakness isn't beautiful.

Anorexia destroys the real lives of real people, some of which you come in contact with everyday. It doesn't just happen to broken people or desperate people or stupid people.

It happens to regular people, regular teens...who just want to be accepted and beautiful. People who see past society's "Love yourself the way you are" to the skinny models and stars promoted as beautiful.

Society is anorexic, it is empty and starving of true beauty, the beauty that runs deeper than face value. One that isn't created using makeup, lighting, starvation, and editing software.

You are beautiful when you are yourself.

Forget society's standards. Forget people's judgements. Just be, just do...you.

Trust me when I say, this can never reach the press. It is too dangerous; even now I take this risk in telling you.

I consider you to be a friend, someone I can confide in, so give me your word you will never tell a soul.

Then let me continue.

It started in 1977. Two people died in what was called an automobile accident, but the truth ... their brakes were partially severed and snapped when the car went down the far side of a mountain pass in Colorado.

In 1979, there was a house fire. Killed five people. It was originally ruled faulty wiring. It happened at night.

In 1981, seven people were shot to death at a private party. It is still an unsolved murder.

By 1998, fifty-six other people died in what would be called strange and unexplained deaths, although that same year, two others died from gunshot wounds to the face. Again, unsolved.

There was a break until 2016. Four people in different houses in the same city were found dead. One by gunshot, two by being beheaded, and one by strangulation. None of those deaths were related to each other.

I tell you all this so that you understand I cannot change what I am, or who I am. I have this animal living inside me that comes out, and then all I feel is rage, and the need to feed on the pain of others. I enjoy watching them die and bleeding out. I derive a huge amount of gratification, almost like an intense sexual release, but even better.

And even though I call you friend, I have you tied to that chair, so you cannot run away from me as I told you this story. Tonight, you are my sole captive audience. And I need this badly. By telling you, I am relieving my soul of what I have done.

When I walk away from you, my soul will be cleansed, as if nothing I have done in the past ever existed. I walk away with my hands clean, almost pure.

What? Will I still set you free? Of course I will. Right after I slash your throat and taste your blood.

There, now you are free, my friend. My secret is safe with you. I can begin over again. I am reborn.

Now, I feel much better; knowing this story will never be told.

Just another Sunday, the week is done.

I’m one inch further than where I’m from.

One day closer to the day I die.

Another week has flown on by.

On Monday, I drank.

I drank alone, then drank with Sam,

we drank at home, then at a bar,

we drank so much , the world spun round.

I sang a song

then drank some more.

On Tuesday I went to a therapist.

He told me that it doesn’t matter what’s happened in the past,

there’s no use in focusing on that.

The point is to feel better, is what he said. If you feel bad, do what you did when you felt good instead.

But what do you do if you’re doing the things that make you feel good but you still feel bad?

On Wednesday I almost died.

My friend called me up and asked me for a ride.

So I drove to the train, where he was waiting outside.

On our way to the place I twirled my hair in one hand

Absently staring off into the land

If my friend didn’t scream i wouldn’t have swerved,

And if I didn’t his scream would’ve been his last word.

We came inches from the car on the left and the one straight ahead

Inches from being alive to being dead.

But shortly after staring death in the face, the fear we felt, faded away

And my friend and I carried on with our day

On Thursday I sipped on wine in an alley way,

not caring too much about the day

Nor the tasks left undone,

the ones I haven’t even begun.

I sipped on wine and listened to tunes, knowing that Friday would come far too soon.

On Friday I slept.

Saturday came, as I knew it should. One of those days you’d wish never would.

A sad soul lost his life that night. No longer willing to fight he took his own life.

I didn’t know him well, so the loss was not mine to mourn, but I felt it for my brothers

Who lost their friend.

A sad soul that thought he’d only find peace in his end.

And now it’s Sunday. the week is done. I’m one inch further than where I’m from

One day closer to the day I die.

Another week has flown on by.

A young lady with long locks of black hair was looking around the Archives when she spotted something shiny with a chain on it. She walked over to it and grabbed it off the shelf. She smiled when she saw it was by her favorite author, Golden Feather. She walked to the table close by and set the book down. The librarian looked up and saw her with the book. She ran over and picked the book up, while glaring at her.

“Why did you do that? I wasn’t gonna read it out loud.” The young lady said.

"This story mustn't be read or even told to anyone, ANYONE!!!" The librarian snapped at her as she held it up.

"What's the harm of reading it?" The young lady asked as she glared at the librarian.

"That's the order I was given when it came in. Only a key can unlock it." The librarian said as she put the book where it came from.

"Do you mean... This key?" The young lady asked as she pulled out a shiny copper key from her pocket.

"H... How did you get that key?" The librarian asked, stunned.

"Eh, easy to get from a beast of many animals, also known as the Chimera. He was asleep and I grabbed it quickly and quietly." She says with a smile.

"W... Well, it is still forbidden to read." The librarian said as she glared at her as she walked by her.

"It is my book, dear Toots. My personal copy signed and in chains. Now, excuse me while I grab it and head home." The young lady said as her name tag shone in the light.

She he grabbed the book. Set it on the table and unlocked the lock.

To be Continued!!!

No one in my home knows what I am about to say nor many that know me. There are only 3 people alive who know what I am about to say. I will share it with all who read it, but this story must never be told outside of here.

When I was 14, I had this job as a nanny. I had known the family my whole life, so they werent strangers to me. I stayed at their home from. I had my own room with this big window looking out to the front yard.

It was a beautiful home with great neighbors. Down the road, maybe a block away, was this park. I took the kids to this park all of the time. Behind the park, there were train tracks for the Metra. I remember being able to see the park from my window and seeing the kids play.

The kids I was watching had this friend that would meet them at the park. One day, when it was time to go home, I met the new boy's parents. They seemed to be a happy and sweet couple. Turned out, they lived in the house behind the one I was staying in. I remember seeing the mother of the boy jogging in the morning. She passed the window every morning. Every morning except one.

This story must never be told.......

I remember feeling something was wrong. I woke up because I thought I heard something. The parents had gone off to work already, so it was just me and the kids I was watching. They were sleeping still, so I knew the noise was coming from outside. I walked to the back door and remember seeing the shadow of a woman. The mother of the boy from the park. This shadow was followed by the shadow of a man. The father. Her body fell and was no longer moving. I look to see a face, and made eye contact with the father. I remember seeing the look of madness. He looked away and quickly moved the body.

In shock, I made sure all the doors were locked and hid in my room. I didn't know what to do. I thought that I was still sleeping and tried to wake up. None of what I just saw seemed to be real. I crawled back into the bed and tried to wake up from this dream like state, but I was not sleeping.

I looked out of the window a little while later and noticed that the husband was at the park now. I watched carefully to try and figure out what he was doing. He looked scared. I watched as he dragged his wife's body to the tracks. Farther and farther away he went. He was finally out of site. I was so scared, I passed out.

I remember waking up later on to a knock at the door. At this time, I was convinced what I saw was a dream, but when I opened the door, it was the police. They were asking me about my neighbor. The mother. The one who was found in her jogging outfit on the tracks dead.

I told them a few things, but I didn't want to believe what I had seen earlier, so that was all I told them. Just I didn't see her jog passed my window that morning.

They didn't arrest the father right away. I refused to let the kids leave the house because I knew he saw me. He would stand in his backyard and seemed to wait for us to come out. When I let the dog go outside, he would wave at me, but I would keep watching the dog. Eventually I started to carry a knife to take the dog out. I felt safer that way.

When he was finally arrested, I felt relieved. The family was in shock because of what they heard, but I was and still am scared from what I have seen.

I still havent told my family. The 3 people I have told are the people I felt can handle this secret. People who I also know will probably never see me again in a year.

When I was 14, I witnessed the murder of a woman and watched her husband drag her body onto the track.

This story must never be told.........

One for sorrow

The morning was cold and bright, a hard frost on top of a few inches of snow, the forecast was for more snow later so Lavinia started out early on her morning chores. As she opened the chickens run there was a Magpie on the top of the gate. The words of a childhood rhyme came unbidden into her head "One for sorrow" she said out loud as she surveyed the body of her favourite old hen 'Henny Penny' the veteran of many winters and out foxer of foxes, had finally succumbed to old age.

Two for joy

There seemed to be a lot of Magpies around she thought whilst loading balage onto the tractor. Maybe it was the cold or perhaps their smart black and white feathers were more visible against the pale frosty ground. The rhyme mumbled in her head as she fed the early lambing ewes, how could they not bring you joy? Some old shepherds don't like them round the flock at lambing saying that 'maggerty birds' kill lambs by pecking out the eyes, but she always lambed indoors and had never seen it.

Three for a girl

Lucy Lockets's triplets were doing well. This year, the first on her own, all the ewes were doing well, Funny that, she thought, money spent on sheep feed brings better returns than money spent in the bookies.

Four for a boy

There were four Magpies in the far paddock were the Rams had been exiled, they flew off down to the stable yard as she broke the ice on the water trough.

Five for silver.

Lavinia didn't count the birds on the roof of the stable as she turned her welsh cob 'Argentia' out into the house paddock. She refused to, it was making her nervous

Six for gold

Or the number on the now refurbished barn that would be a holiday let come summer.

Severn for a story, never to be told

She was not superstious but there was no way she would turn her head to look at the scrub ground near the tractor shed. Her blood ran cold, she just knew there were severn Magpies scratching around on the ground there.

You musn't read this story.

If you do, you'll be cursed.

Though if you're reading this,

I already fear the worst.

If you've gotten this far,

you're already doomed.

For during the night,

you'll be seeing a Ploom.

Please fear the Ploom,

for the Ploom is a beast.

And during the night,

on your flesh, he will feast.

Your only solution,

and it will not be swift,

is to journey to Hoblor,

and close up The Rift.

But The Rift is ancient.

Forever, it burns.

Inside The Rift,

a big wheel turns.

To stop the wheel,

is the only way.

To vanquish the monsters,

and save the day.