Robin Hood and Little John - Re-Posted

[NOTE: This is NOT a new story, I just had to re-post it as a poem to enter a contest]

I sat at the table and tapped my nails, swinging my legs back and forth. Occasionally they hit the chair leg, making a dull ‘thwack’. I picked at the piece of toast my mom had given me, my stomach growling. I drew a breath, ‘I can do this’ I thought and picked it up with shaking hands. Crumbs fell off it as my hand jerked, bringing it to my mouth. I closed my eyes and bit a bit off, rolling it around my mouth. I retched, and ran over to the sink where I spat the toast out, rinsing my mouth out with cold water. I immediately felt guilty, the gnawing sensation in my stomach worse than that of hunger. It grew bigger and bigger…suffocating me… I gasped, breaking the spell. I grabbed the toast again, shoving it in my mouth with determination. I chewed grimly, trying not to think of the sour taste in my mouth. I swallowed, grimaced, and opened my eyes that were, to my surprise, squeezed shut. My mouth was dry and my throat sore and scratched, but I had done it. ‘What now?’ I thought, looking round the kitchen. I stood up, getting a large glass and filled it with orange juice, right to the brim. I sipped it gently and very carefully carried it back to the table. I pulled myself up on the kitchen counter and rummaged in a cupboard, finding my candy. A small brown bottle rattled in my hand as I lowered my body off the counter. I sat back in my place, staring at the bottle, transfixed. My mom walked it, breaking me out of my trance.

“Morning! Have you taken your pills yet hon?” she asked, smiling at me. I picked up the bottle and waved it in front of her.

“Got them right here” I replied, applying pressure and twisting the lid off. I tipped one of the small red pills out, studying it in my hand. I rolled it around, looking at the small writing on it.

“Don’t forget the other ones” my mom said, throwing a slightly orangeier bottle at me. It landed in my lap, and I opened it, tipping a larger, white pill out into my hand. I placed it on the table next to the red one, lining them up with my glass of orange juice.

“Thanks mom” I said, giving her a smile. She ruffled my hair and took my plate.

“Sammy!” she exclaimed, drawing my gaze away from my pills. “You’ve eaten something!” she said, looking ecstatic. I gave her a quick smile, turning my attention back to my pills. She knew I didn’t like a fuss, whether I ate or not so she gave me a quick kiss on the top of my head and went back to washing up.

Robin Hood and Little John - my pills. Naming them was my sick idea of a joke. I picked up Robin, the red one, and put it in my mouth under my tongue. I took a large gulp of orange juice, washing it down. He was the easy one. I picked up Little John, putting him in the same position. The size was noticeably different. I took a gulp of orange juice and had to try three times to force the large pill. I shuddered, feeling it slide slowly and painfully down my throat.

My name is Samantha Green, but if you ever call me Samantha, I will hunt you down and kill you. Everyone, with the exception of Miss Burton - my form teacher – calls me Sammy. I’m 15 years old, 5”5 and enjoy a pretty normal life. I’m a regular kid, with one exception. I weigh 67lbs. I was diagnosed with anorexia eight months ago, most of which I spent in the hospital. I was allowed out three weeks ago and told to have strict supervision. I have to take two sorts of pills, one’s an antibiotic to get my body back on track, and the other is an anti-depressant. I’ve had that one for quite a while, since my father died. That also triggered my anorexia, which I managed to hide pretty well, considering it was for 3 years. I’m told I was found curled up in the girls' toilets, out cold. I remember I had eaten some chips, and I had to make myself puke them up to feel better. I weighed 46lbs then. I’m doing better. In the hospital they pumped me full of food – I weigh a little more now. I was very close to dying, so I’m told. Another week would have killed me.

So there I was. The morning before my first day back at school for eight months. I felt terrified, scared, excited, petrified, excited. Name any emotion, and I bet I felt it. After having forced Little John down my throat I went upstairs to shower and get dressed. I pulled on a fitted top that hung pretty loosely from my skinny form. A pair of baggy cords with a studded belt finished the image and I brushed my hair, not bothering with makeup or trying to make myself look appealing. I was over that ‘I need a boyfriend, quick!’ stage. I looked at myself in the mirror, feeling sorry for the gaunt girl who stared back. I closed my eyes and picked up my book bag, heading downstairs where I shoved my feet in dirty trainers. My mom offered my a comforting smile, which I took gratefully. I climbed in the car silently, clasping my hands in my lap. When we pulled up outside the busy school, I panicked and clutched at my mom’s hand.

“Mommy, I can’t do this” I whispered, a tear trickling down my face. She looked at me, stroking my hair.

“Honey, if you don’t do it now, you won’t ever be able to do it. You have to get out there and kick it in the face. If you don’t go back to your normal life, then you’ll warp into your mind” she said softly. I nodded, and she brushed the tear aside. She was right, and I opened the door, stepping out. “I love you” she whispered, giving me a peck on the cheek. I smiled, holding her hand as long as possible. I guess you could call me sad, still clinging to my mom like that, but she was the only one who understood. She had to go through the same thing with my father, she was the one I depended on. I drew a deep breath, watching the car drive away with longing and regret. The bell rang, making me jump. I spun round, watching the people laughing and fighting. ‘Another normal day for them.’ I thought jealously. I had to head to reception and I did so when the corridors had cleared a bit. I was invisible to most of the students, which I was grateful for. I opened the door, the metal handle cold and unfriendly in my hand.