There’s a story where I live. It’s pretty recent, too. About 5 years. It’s more of a rumor but… I don’t know how well I believe it, but let’s just say that I don’t want to think there’s a raving maniac in my neighborhood.
So it goes something like this. There was a girl who was large. Abnormally large. Not obese, but not healthy. She was never really self-conscious until people started to point it out. Soon, her family too started to take notice. People told her that she should start to eat more healthy, and to take better care of herself. It wasn’t until middle school that she was called “fat.” She hated it when people made fun of her. But she did her best to get through it and pretend that nothing was wrong. But her family didn’t ignore it. Sometimes they told her that she was beautiful, and sometimes they would say that she was too big and that she needed to go on a diet.
She hated herself at that point. She looked in the mirror and saw nothing but lard. A girl who was too big for her bones.
But she kept quiet.
She never said a word.
She always nodded and agreed with people, and tried to do what they said. She just wanted to make them happy and to be happy. But she never was.
No one was satisfied. All they ever said was “you’re overeating,” or “you’ve put on a little weight since I last saw you.”
She began to go crazy in her own mind. She was just trying to please people. Give them what they wanted. Be who they wanted her to be. Play the part. Lose the weight. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t do it. It stuck or got worse.
She had spent so much time trying to please people, she lost who she was. She looked into the mirror and saw nothing. Just a mess. One night, as she looked into the mirror again, she stared at herself.
She became more insane. She screamed and screamed.
She grabbed a knife and began to cut away at her abdomen.
“Too fat. Too fat. Too… FAT!!!” She yelled. She cut faster, desperate to be thin.
She looked back into the mirror and saw her body. Blood was everywhere but she only saw fat and ugliness. She began to cut at her thighs. Soon, they too were a bloody wreck. She moved to her arms. Cutting away at the fatty tissue until she found bone. Her smile grew wide, and when she looked into the mirror, her grin faded. Her neck was thick. She had always hated her double chin.
She carefully began to slice away at her neck. She was still smart; she knew if she cut too deep she would die. She just wanted to get the fat off.
Moments pass, and she stops cutting. She steps back and look at her work.
Her fat was gone. All that was left was bloody cuts and slabs, and her midsection had some intestines hanging out in small places. Her upper arms had places where bone was showing, and her inner neck was glistening in the fluorescent lights.
Satisfied, she walked out the door. In her trance, she hadn’t noticed that her mother was banging at the door, hearing the screams and the sound of metal hitting the counter.
When her mother saw her daughter’s handiwork, she screamed and covered her mouth to keep herself from vomiting.
“What’s wrong, mother? Aren’t I pretty?” She gripped the knife tighter in her hand. “Did I lose the weight nicely?”
Her mother began quietly sobbing behind her hands. Indiscernible words flooded from her mouth.
“Mother?” the girl chirped. “Are you happy now?”
As her mother kept babbling, the girl’s smile faded.
“You think I’m ugly. After all I’ve done? I’m still ugly?”
The girl charged her mother and shoved her to the ground. Using the knife she used to make herself beautiful, she stabbed her mother in the chest. When her mom was struggling to breathe, the girl cut open her stomach and stuffed the intestines into the open crying mouth of her own dear mother.
“You’re pretty, mommy! Just like me!” she sang, as the woman choked on her own insides.
And that’s pretty much it. That’s the story. But there’s a little bit more though. She’s still around. And we call her “Pretty Girl.” The people around here say that Pretty Girl will come to your house at night while you’re asleep. She’ll sit on your legs facing you, and ask you one question.
“Aren’t I pretty enough?” If she doesn’t like your answer, she kills you. If you say “yes,” she will scream “You’re lying to me!” and proceed to stab you over and over again. Then she gouges out your eyes.
If you answer “No,” she will do to you what she did to her mom.
But you have a chance of surviving. If you say, “You’re so-so,” much like that Japanese legend, she’ll be confused and walk away. But that’s a slim chance. There’s also a chance she’ll cut your arms and legs and stab you once in the chest, screaming, “You are blind!” over and over until you die.
But it’s just a story. I don’t believe it. It has taught me a lesson though. I don’t call people ugly, fat, or a queer. I also don’t hate myself.
I don’t think it’s true, and I hope you don’t either.
Pretty Girl isn’t real. But she’s so gorgeous. Isn’t she?