6Say I'm Beautiful
A Short Story
By Victoria Stokes
I hate myself. That's all I can think as I stare at my reflection. It's one of those mirrors that take up the entire closet door and slides open. It's supposed to make the room look bigger by reflecting the entire space.
I absolutely hate this mirror.
I let out an aggravated huff as I examine myself. Brown hair falling to just above my elbows. Too-big green eyes that make me look insane. Zits galore. Fat arms. Fat stomach. Fat legs.
Fat.
Fat.
I bite my lip as I shed the jeans and t-shirt. This outfit would have looked cute on my best friend or my sister. Just . . . not on me.
I try not to see myself in the mirror as I thumb through my closet again. I don't even know why I'm trying to find something cute to wear at nine o'clock at night. It's irrational. But, I just want to feel pretty. For once, I want to feel it.
This time I pull out a flowery skirt that brushes along my knees when I put it on. Then I grab a green button up shirt that covers my elbows—it's loose fitting, being a size too large—and tuck it in. I close the closet so I can assess myself in the mirror.
I wish I didn't look.
I feel like crying.
Even beneath a skirt with so much swish and a baggy shirt, you can see how fat I am. Why am I so ugly! My throat's beginning to sting, but I shake my head, trying to clear the feeling.
"I'm never eating dinner again," I tell myself. "I'm never eating pasta or bread. It's not worth all this."
I look at myself again. At my ugly self.
The tears start coming. I wipe them away.
"Stop it, Amy," I tell myself. "Everyone thinks you're beautiful."
Another look in the mirror shows they're wrong. My legs look like two giant sausages and my face—no matter what angle I turn it in, all I see is excess fat distorting my complexion, a protruding jaw, and a nose that looks like it belongs to a seagull.
No, Amy. Stop it! They aren't wrong—you can't keep doing this! I look straight into my own eyes as calmly as I can and say, "I'm beautiful."
Ten seconds of silence follows before I say, "No, I hate myself," and tears fall again. I wipe them away, but they keep coming silently.
"I'm beautiful," I say as I unbutton my fat girl shirt and throw it across the room with as much force as I can manage. My skirt follows it.
"I'm beautiful," I say again, turning back to the mirror in only my underwear. If I say it enough, then maybe I'll believe it.
"I'm—"
The tears are like a stream as they fall down my face, but I still wipe at them. Why do I cry! Stop crying, please. Stop it.
"I'm—"
Say it, Amy. Say you're beautiful. Everyone else says you are. Why can't you see it?
"It's not true!" I sob, my hands clenched so tight that my knuckles feel strained. "It's just not!" I shriek as I take my fists and throw them at the mirror so hard that the glass cracks and shatters, tumbling like a sliver waterfall to my bedroom floor.
I watch it with blurry vision, not even caring about the burning of my wrecked hands or the glass slivers sticking out of my fresh cuts. The ground is littered with the hundreds of ugly me being reflected on the floor. They're all staring back at me, staring back at the sorry girl. My blood runs down my hands and paints the glass red.
It's no use anymore, the tears won't stop. I sink to the floor and lie amidst the broken mirror, taking comfort in the scrapes and cuts it's giving my body, as if resenting my ugliness for causing its downfall.
Quiet cries shake my body, and I finally quit trying to wipe the tears away. I just cover my face with my hands and curl up in a ball for God knows how long.
"I can't say it," I mutter once my sobbing has settled. My voice is so quiet, I wonder if I'm only listening to my thoughts. The floor is cold, but I don't move to grab a sweater. Clothes will only make me hate myself more.
"Won't you say it, Amy?" I whisper against my bloodied hand. "Please, say I'm beautiful."