Among other topics, do not forget to comment upon embedded questions

Among other topics, do not forget to comment upon embedded questions

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Your main commentary should be focused on THAT and THIS used as determiners. Additional topics may also be addressed. Charlotte examines herself in the full-length mirror which, not quite long 35 has no need for it. She’ll be fine, better without it, better without them. Get rid enough to live up to its name, is nailed into a position on the wall so that it of it all, Charlotte! No more food, no more fat, no more dumb dreams, no cuts off her ankles and feet and shaves an inch from the top of her head. more lies, no more doubts, no more self-pity, no more pain, no more Peter, no Why couldn’t it subtract a bit from the middle? Not a chance. Hello, Mrs more Rebecca, no more! Charlotte has been doing this every night for two 5 Blobby, in the track-suit bottoms, baggy pullover and pale, pale skin. She weeks now. Every night which Charlotte spends alone in the flat while frowns. She might not have any noticeable gashes or bums or slice marks, 40 Rebecca is out with him. By next summer, she tells herself, she will be a sleek but nor has she Rebecca’s angelic face (make-up or none) or her Cindy new Charlotte, capable of wooing men far superior to Peter, capable of leaping Crawford body which clothes and men cling to with pleasure. Charlotte’s over competition like Rebecca in a single bound. It’s only September lumbering mass fills all the edges of the mirror’s frame. Everywhere she remember, she’s got plenty of time, especially at this pace. She is up to 500 10 looks ...

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Reads 48
Language English
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Your main commentary should be focused on
THAT
and
THIS
used as determiners. Additional topics may also be addressed.
Charlotte examines herself in the full-length mirror which, not quite long
enough to live up to its name, is nailed into a position on the wall so that it
cuts off her ankles and feet and shaves an inch from the top of her head.
Why couldn’t it subtract a bit from the middle? Not a chance. Hello, Mrs
Blobby, in the track-suit bottoms, baggy pullover and pale, pale skin. She
frowns. She might not have any noticeable gashes or bums or slice marks,
but nor has she Rebecca’s angelic face (make-up or none) or her Cindy
Crawford body which clothes and men cling to with pleasure. Charlotte’s
lumbering mass fills all the edges of the mirror’s frame. Everywhere she
looks, from every angle, there it is - fat, fat, fat. Pinching more than an inch
is a laughable understatement. She can grab whole yards of the stuff.
Charlotte tilts her head back until her double chin is stretched taut. Through
slitted eyes, she views this more flattering reflection. If only she could walk
around like this without tripping. Why was she cursed with this body? it
wasn’t fair. In the beginning with Peter, Charlotte insisted that he turn the
lights out when they went to bed. She couldn’t bear for him to see her
cellulite or her ample bum. Even in the dark, it embarrassed her to have his
hands moving over her, over the folds of her belly, back over the bumpy,
rough hills of cellulite and the stretch marks which cut like tributaries
through them. He traced the bumps and grooves curiously as she tried to
restructure their landscape in her mind. She held her breath and sucked in
her stomach, moulding it to him as he held her.
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‘Pathetic!’ She sticks her tongue out at her reflection. ‘I hate you,’ she
says to the mirror. She imagines another more perfect face staring back at
her and jabs at the image with her thumb which leaves its smudgy print on
the glass. ‘I hate you, Rebecca.’ No, no, none of that, Charlotte scolds
herself. She drops to the floor and rips into a rep of sit-ups. Crunch that
tummy, crunch, crunch. In her head, she recites another refrain of her
mantra. Get rid of it. Get rid of all her feelings for him, get rid of all the
pain. Squeeze it out. No place for that on her new lean body. With each
droplet of sweat, each time she pees or takes a shit, she’ll be squeezing out a
little more. Purification of body and mind. The food and what it does to her
body, that is the pain, same as Peter, same as Rebecca. No place for it. Get
rid of it. She won’t even feel hunger any more because she doesn’t want it,
has no need for it. She’ll be fine, better without it, better without them. Get rid
of it all, Charlotte! No more food, no more fat, no more dumb dreams, no
more lies, no more doubts, no more self-pity, no more pain, no more Peter, no
more Rebecca, no more! Charlotte has been doing this every night for two
weeks now. Every night which Charlotte spends alone in the flat while
Rebecca is out with him. By next summer, she tells herself, she will be a sleek
new Charlotte, capable of wooing men far superior to Peter, capable of leaping
over competition like Rebecca in a single bound. It’s only September
remember, she’s got plenty of time, especially at this pace. She is up to 500
sit-ups and 500 leg-lifts a session. Then she runs in place for about 20 minutes,
sometimes she jogs around the flat or jumps on Rebecca’s bed, chanting her
mantra at the top of her voice. She collapses now, on her stomach on the floor,
panting hard. She doesn’t exactly feel good about the situation, but she’s
beginning to feel better. Or in any case, the pain is starting to recede. Slightly,
it seems more muted, removed, remote. There is still sadness, and that ache in
her gut, but it feels elsewhere, buried. Like someone else is experiencing it,
experiencing all these humiliatingly precise moments of agony over her friend
and her boyfriend, ex- boyfriend, ex-friend. Someone very close, someone
Charlotte can relate to intensely and feel sorry for, but still, it is someone else,
someone else’s moments, and she is just observing, safely from a distance, it’s
strange, this remoteness, but more comfortable than the other. Thinking of her
imminent move helps, too. She pictures the flat in West Hampstead. Her own
room - small but private. And Liz, her best friend, her real and true friend, just
on the other side of the wall. Whenever she hears the phone ring, and knows
it’s him for Rebecca, whenever she imagines them walking hand in hand, both
of them radiating their beauty and health shamelessly and making heads turn
in envy, she thinks of her new home, of her new flatmates standing at the door,
waiting to welcome her with open arms. A refuge, escape. The upside of this
whole terrible débâcle.
Terry P
ADDOCK
(UK),
Beware the Dwarfs
, 1999