Voided Victories – The Writeycorn

Voided Victories

“Whoooooooooo we won!” “Yes!” It was the football tournament  in the European school and it was the semi-final 5ENB v.s 5NEA English vs The Dutch. The referees were Dutch and were cheating. We (English) started complaining ………………..

it was the final of the football tournament in the European school The Spanish vs The Dutch, a Spanish guy  had a broken arm but we chanted “LET HIM PLAY, LET HIM PLAY” so he played. The Dutch cheated again and won but got stopped by the principal!

Inspired by the November Writing Prompts.

Voided Victories – Dead Deer

It isn’t the drugs you know. No it was never about the performance enhancement, not for me. The guy was an arsehole, that was the problem. His deliberately provocative stance against all and sundry (especially against those noticeably anti-drugs – I mean, come on!) was just unpleasant and unnecessary, and that’s why he was so unliked across Europe.

‘Nice guys don’t win’ would be the mantra of a pugnacious flawed human such as he. It is a ridiculous claim. It is obvious to anyone that the true champions are the ones that win everything, but win with grace and magnanimity. There are plenty of examples from his own sport as well as all others.

This, I suspect, was the cause of his downfall. I mean it had been obvious that he was guilty for many many years before his admission, it was a bit ridiculous that he could still stand up and spout the bullshit, but more so that people continued to believe him. And all the shock and surprise when he admitted it! I mean, where had they all been?

Next came the outrage, from all quarters. Tennis player’s appalled that someone might turn to illegal medicinal methods to aid and assist their game. Tennis! Satire isn’t dead, but it is on life support.

So the record books are left with a big hole in them, yet for many the gap is ignored and they still believe. And he still gets to travel the world airing his views, sharing his  grevances! And those who stood up to him, who refused to take his poison, what of them? On the scrap heap, ignored; still seen as dull whiners.

He was a nasty piece of work and he was a cheat. Why is he still lauded in his homeland? Oh hang on – they like that type so much they have one running the place.

Today I wrote from 15:44 to 15:54. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

Nov 30th – Voided Victories

November 30th – Voided Victories

08.24-08.34

“Go on, eat it all up.”

“You’ll like it.”

“I made this specially for you.”

She knew they were watching her. They always watched her eat, now. So she tried, with a smile, to move forkful after forkful of the calories into her mouth. One sausage. 301 calories. A slice of cake. 257 calories. A banana. 89 calories. A glass of water. Nothing.

She sipped at the water. Smiled at her parents across the table.

She knew they cared. Cared. She also knew that they didn’t know that they were suffocating her with their care. Their encouragement. Their triumph at the smallest of victories. Their victories were the white spaces on her plate where the calories had been.

They didn’t understand. She was a good girl. Good at school, good grades, friends. Good at sports, too, once, before all this started. All this.

She knew what was going on. She had read the literature, gone to the sessions, talked to the overweight nurse and the overweight doctor and the perfect counsellor with her shiny hair and tiny waist and perfect small curves. She knew what she was doing.

She also knew that they didn’t see what she saw in the mirror. They didn’t see the swell of her stomach in the spotlight she angled up, every morning, every evening, just to see.

They’d started going through her computer. They didn’t know enough, though, to find the private browsing history, the chats, the perfect girls with their perfect hair and perfect teeth and perfect bikini bodies, on catwalks and covers and full-page spreads. They didn’t know about the chatrooms, late at night, where she could talk about calories and figures and BMI and perfect shapes.

They wouldn’t understand.

So she smiled at the dinner table, as she smiled at the breakfast table, as she smiled when she went out the door, her mother’s hug a hug goodbye and a pair of caliper arms, measuring, judging.

At school she was safe, if she was careful.

Straight into the bathroom, empty her stomach.

A victory.

 

Inspired by a prompt from here