Prompts = Bland, Foment, Husky
My mom calls my build “husky” but I can tell she’s only defending herself against criticism of my size. Even the scale has a problem with it; it only shows up to 100 kilos.
Neither of us understands why I’m this size. I eat bird-sized portions of food so bland it’s barely consumable. And unlike what the kids at school say, I don’t eat bad stuff; the doctor says that if I do, I might die.
I beat up one of my tormentors the other day; the mirror foments a rage I’m having trouble controlling.
I hate my life.
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