It was a typical Sunday afternoon in late January and I was ready for my photoshoot. This photoshoot wasn’t what you’re thinking. There was no hair and makeup team, lighting crew, or even any professionals. A few days prior I had agreed to meet a local photographer who I had met on Instagram. Neither of us are signed with a big agency like Elite Models or IMG we’re just two twenty somethings who want to create art. See, I’m an Instagram model.
Penguins. Penguins. The bane of my existence. I hate penguins. Not all, just the African penguin, Spheniscus demersus. My dear, darling research subjects. Tuxedoed, as all penguins are, about a foot tall, in the shape of bowling pins or footballs, reminding me exactly how easy it would be to knock them over or punt them across the exhibit when they cause me grievances.
As I sat in my father’s new kitchen, half-heartedly painting the wall in front of me olive green, she played with my hair. Ryan, my brother, sat next to me with a smaller paintbrush and painted out “HHH” before slopping over it with more of that baby food green color. His shaggy, dirty-blonde hair made its best efforts to stay out of his eyes.
Snow angrily cascaded down from the grey sky, it pounded the cabin with icy fists. The wintry wind howled like a phantom against the kitchen windows as I made my way down the claustrophobic hallway. I reached the area between the basement door and the undersized living-room. The cold linoleum sent shivers from my bare feet all the way up my spine.
Death (deTH)- 1 : flushing your goldfish down the toilet 2 : holding a person’s hand as they take their last breath 3 : when the person you love doesn’t come home. Death is spontaneous. Death is random. Death is mysterious.
The red digital numbers taunted me as I towered above them. It was the highest weight I had ever seen on the scale. I was forty pounds away from hitting two hundred. That’s a lot to gain.