Reflection by Deanna Krikorian

Mirror

In her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Ashley searched for her mother. She surveyed her face, looking for features she knew weren’t there. Her tired eyes remained the wrong shade, her nose too small, her cheekbones unrefined. Despite her efforts to fabricate similarities between them, her reflection refused to change. Her older sisters, with their towering height, tight blonde curls, and clear blue eyes, were their mother’s spitting image, a feat Ashley had desired her entire life. Having just turned thirty, they had a little over a decade before they’d live longer than mom ever had, and even then they’ll still see themselves in each other. Soon Ashely wouldn’t even look like herself. “You and me,” her mom used to tell her, “we’re the same on the inside, deep down where it matters most.” It used to comfort her; now she laughed at the irony.  Continue reading “Reflection by Deanna Krikorian”

Tiptoeing a Thin Line by Anna Walters

I began dreaming about being a ballerina at age six, and I began dreaming about being skinny at age twelve. It seems to be common knowledge, a stereotype turned fact, that ballet dancers have a higher tendency to develop eating disorders than non-dancers. The word “ballet” itself is surrounded by a stereotype. When people hear the word ballet, what images come to mind? Little girls in leather slippers, twirling around aimlessly? A stick-thin woman tip toeing to the beat of Waltz of the Sugar Plum Fairy? Whatever the image may be, I guarantee it doesn’t involve someone overweight. Continue reading “Tiptoeing a Thin Line by Anna Walters”

Fuck You, Elliot by Olive Riley

My fifth grade teacher, Ms. Stickman, sat us around the classroom in groups of four. Each time I had grown somewhat comfortable with my table companions she would uproot us, and I’d end up with three new classmates with whom I’d had little to no interaction. I realize now that she may have created these endlessly rotating seating charts to help kids, like me, who suffered from crippling social anxiety, but let me tell you that when I was eleven there was no way I was going to see these moves in any positive light. Especially after the time I was seated smack across from Elliot. Continue reading “Fuck You, Elliot by Olive Riley”