Oppression Always Wins

The first time I saw Lily, she was wearing a bright yellow dress. She had a brown leather belt around her waist, which snatched the dress to her perfectly curved body. Her hair was dark brown, packed in a cute bun and fastened with a blue, flowery band. She had eyes like the sun: dazzling, clear and mesmerizing. When her lips parted in a smile, she looked unreal, like something out of a painting. On our first meeting, she said something to me, but I was too stunned to hear. Her voice was flawless, soothing to the ear and smooth as honey. I wondered if someone could be this perfect. I admired her at first; then, I despised her. I hated her for making me hate myself.

I stopped trying to be perfect ten years ago. At the time, I was a 21-year-old girl weighing 400 pounds and living with my mother. My skin was pale, and my eyes were droopy. My hair was thin and perpetually greasy, no matter how hard I tried to make it better. I was young but hated going to parties, going out on dates, using social media or all the other stuff that young people do. I wanted nothing to do with the world, and I knew that the world felt the same way about me. Hell, even my own mother couldn't stand me; she preferred my thin, tall, not-socially awkward sister.

It was 2013, and I was determined to get in shape. I jumped on all the fad diets, ate right, swapped the bottles of coke for water and stopped cussing. After giving up the things I loved the most, at the end of the year, I had only lost a fucking, measly ten pounds. I still looked bloated as fuck!

So I stopped trying. Ten long years later, I have gained 100 pounds, and I'm still pretty lonely. Perhaps I'm better off now cos I live alone in a beautiful apartment, and have a decent job. At least I don't have my mother and sister here to make me feel worthless. I had been living quite contentedly till I met Lily two weeks ago; she was the new girl at work.

Lily, with her perfect face and body, had acted so nice to me that I thought she was mocking me. As much as possible, I avoided eye contact with this woman whose beauty was like a mirror telling me of my imperfections and unworthiness.

I tried in vain to keep my distance. Every day she would come to me, offer me coffee and sit next to me at every staff meeting. She would tell me jokes and laugh in her musical voice; everyone would laugh, too—everyone except me. I couldn't laugh. For all I knew, they were laughing at me. She was drawing too much attention to me, and I hated it; I hated her.

One day, out of the blue, she invited a few other female co-workers and me to what she called a girl's night out. It was the first time I had been invited to anything that resembled a party, yet I wasn't excited. How could I be? A girl's night out meant they would see me in my jammies. No one should ever see me in my jammies! I tried to decline politely, but she rebuffed all my attempts. I had no choice but to attend.

The "party" took place on Saturday night at Lily's lush apartment. It was a small flat, but it was well-furnished and had a sort of classiness about it. Beautiful paintings were hanging on the wall. I wondered if she was that talented too.

As you would expect, I sat awkwardly at the far end of a couch as they read books, listened to music, and talked about dating, sex and college. I participated in none of these activities and was doing a good job merging with the couch until one of the girls turned to me and said…

"Hey Amy, you've been quiet."

Everywhere became dead silent, and I could feel their gaze resting on me. I shuffled uneasily.

She continued, "Don't you have any weird sex experiences you'd like to share?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could, one girl retorted

"I bet she doesn't. I mean, look at her."

The room erupted with laughter. I felt that the earth should hide me. It was happening again; the shame, anger and hate I had bottled inside were welling up. I looked at Lily. She was laughing too. I felt betrayed. For some inexplicable reason, I had expected her to be different. I was wrong. They are all the same. Every single human on this planet is a fucking tyrant.

I became the object of their focus and the topic of their discussion. Over drinks and laughter, they talked about how fat and weird I am and how it must be hard to find someone to love me.

I felt incredibly tense as my muscles became taut. I gripped my handbag, which lay on my trembling lap, and I could feel the form of my .22 caliber pistol. Yes, I could end it right now. I could whip out my gun, and if I was fast enough, I could kill the four of them in ten seconds. That would put an end to this. \

They were too engrossed in body-shaming me that they didn't notice that I had my gun out. I stood up, and in a fit of courage that was strange to me, walked to the middle of the room and pointed my gun at them. Lily was the first to notice. She made to scream, but I shot her twice in the chest.

There was an immediate commotion. Two of the girls sat petrified. They were frozen in fear, eyes wide and unblinking, lips quivering. One of them- the one who set this whole thing off- stood up to run, but I shot her at the back of her head, and she fell to the floor. Lifeless and pale. I turned to the other two. As I looked into their faces, I did not see two scared girls. What I saw were hate, oppression and bitterness. And I thought, 'I have to kill it.' I had to end the hate and anger I had been carrying. These girls represented my mother, my sister, the bullies at school and the world. They had to die for what they had made me feel all these years.

So I pulled the trigger. I got one slightly above her eyes, and red, warm blood splattered behind her, staining the off-white couch. The last girl dropped to her knees, and in her face, I saw terror..as tangible as the gun in my hands. Her eyes were wide and frozen; her mouth was agape. She wanted to beg for her life. I could see it. But she wasn't remorseful. She only wanted to live. The pathetic, little fucker! She didn't know how often she and her kind had killed me in the past. She didn't know how often I begged her and others like her to spare my life, to let me live! They hadn't shown me mercy, so I was not going to show mercy either. I pulled the trigger again and shot her twice: once in the chest and once in the face. Now it was over.

I took in the bloody scene first, then closed my eyes. These people had killed me so many times that I felt no remorse retaliating the only way I could. The room was quiet now. The laughter was gone, and I felt great peace, standing amid the bodies of my oppressors.

I had scarcely finished reveling in my victory when I started to hear the faint sound of laughter. It sounded distant like it was coming from somewhere far, far away. Then, it began to get louder, clearer and closer. My eyes shot open in panic, and I found myself standing in the middle of the room with no gun in my hand. The girls were sitting in front of me…alive!

"She's back from her trance," one of them said amidst laughter

"Hey, Amy..are you okay?." That one was Lily.

I staggered back, bewildered. I thought I had done it; I thought I had finally ended it. I was wrong. The anger came again, stronger than ever. But this time, it was directed at me. I was angry at myself because I was weak. Weak, even to save myself.

So there I stood, floundering and fat, in the middle of the room, in the spotlight of oppression and enveloped in that suppressive laughter that I have heard too many times. I lost again.