There’s nothing to eat. Just a few scrapes of margarine in the tub in the fridge, but nothing to scrape it onto. Only a bottle of tomato sauce and some toothpicks in the cupboard.
I need to go to the shop. It’s at the end of the street, but it may as well be a million miles away.
I can’t order a take-away. I only have four pounds, and they won’t deliver less than ten pounds worth. Besides, I have no credit on my phone to ring my order through.
The shop it is then.
I look in the mirror. Who is this freak? My stomach rumbles as though it’s caving in on itself. Can this freak make it to the corner shop and back without drawing attention to itself?
I pull on a black hoodie, something to hide in. I look out of the window; lucky for me, the view from my upstairs flat is excellent. The coast is clear, so I scuttle downstairs. Pause for a moment of panic before opening the front door. And have I got my key?
Look left and right: all clear. Out into the street. It feels very strange.
Suddenly, voices behind me. Girls. I freeze. They’re laughing. Laughing at me of course. I take to my heels, hunger forgotten. I have no idea where I’m running to, I only hope there are no more encounters along the way. I chant a mantra as I run: find courage, find courage.
By Karenne Griffin
Last Modified on: 05-11-2015