This post consists of two pieces of micro fiction. Each piece consists of one tweet that inspired its background. The tweets are in bold above each short story.
"The key to fixing a broken heart, baking until you can't bake anymore"
Sappy love songs blasting on the radio and a dainty apron tied around her tiny waist, the only two things piecing her together. He left yesterday, leaving her hopelessly dreaming for his return, but she understood that it was for the better. “I’m doing this for you”, those words playing in her head over and over, the music slowly fading from her mind. She picked up a wooden spoon, swirling her fresh made cake batter in circles, making its roughness gradually become smooth. Something so simple gave her hope, making her realize that these tough times could only get better. After carefully pouring, she placed the cake in the oven, returning to the daydreams of her lost lover. The heat from the oven made her ponder the worst; how was he surviving on the front line? Would there be a day that could be his last? Twenty minutes left on the timer, if only that was the countdown until she could embrace him in her arms again. These were the days she needed him most, the days that no one else could begin to understand. How could he help her now, what are you supposed to do when the one who helped you at your worst is the one who is causing your heart to tear in half. The timer interrupts her mindless rambles, for a minute she forgot how her thoughts began. A new recipe complete, if only there was one for her broken heart.
"The world is so stereotypical today! Note to self: A size zero still isn't going to be perfect."
Hanging helplessly over her porcelain throne, she can’t concentrate, the perfect body overwhelming her thoughts. There it goes again, her stomach convulsing with pains, but saying goodbye to her previous meal is no problem for her. The same procedure every day, three times to be exact, hiding her horrible habit from the world, but it is easier said than done. She cannot remember the day it started, but it does not matter now, as long as she can see the results in the mirror. Her body weak, but she does her best to stand, to regain the pride that she previously had. “This is not my fault, I have no control.” She tells herself over and over again, covering up the guilt that she feels inside. Now, standing in front of the mirror, a white ghost staring back at her, how could this happen? Her focus goes to her frail figure, but she can’t see what her viewers see. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, I am the ugliest of them all”, she fails to realize the truth. Running her hands up and down her body, her protruding bones have no influence over her thoughts. “Only a few more pounds to go and then I will stop, summer is just around the corner”. The likelihood of that happening, slim, her beach time will be spent in a hospital bed, IVs keeping her hostage.
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