The Eviction

A Short Story

“You can’t do it.”

“…”

“This is a mistake. You won’t make it down the street.”

“…”

“Everyone will laugh at you. They’ll laugh. They’ll see you and say you’re a fat turd. Don’t do it”

“… I know.”

He stood in the open doorway, staring out into the foreboding street, as it began to light up with the first few cracks of dawn. He wore long, uncomfortable track pants and an old T-shirt, both of which felt unfamiliar and foreign to him. He knew what he had to do, but his body felt as though something or someone was holding him back. Within him, a battle raged between his resolve to change, and his fear of change. Back and forth they wrestled, as he stared out into the empty street. Eventually resolve won, and with a final push he launched himself down the street in a vigorous run.

Within a few seconds his body began to burn, every muscle screaming in agony at him to stop. Sweat was already dripping into his eyes and soaking through his clothes, while his fat, jiggly thighs chafed excruciatingly with every step. Yet he continued to run, breathing in loud, pressured gasps as he forced himself further and further. In a corner of his blurry vision, he saw his dim reflection in a neighbors window — a fat blob rolling past.

“You barely made it two blocks.”

“…”

“Everyone saw you. They all thought ‘what a loser’.”

“…”

“There’s no point going again.”

“…”

It felt even harder the next day for him to will himself out the door. Again he stood in the early hours of the morning, staring down the dark, empty road. He hadn’t made it far yesterday — barely a few blocks. It took every ounce of willpower he had to take the first step out the door, closing it behind him with a loud thud as his sizeable feet crashed against the pavement. The screaming from his muscles began almost immediately, the mere memory of the previous day enough to set them off. He ignored them and just ran.

He ran down the street, the cold air and moderate drizzle unable to stop him. The first few cracks of morning sunlight broke through the dark clouds, illuminating him to any who woke up and cared to look out the window at this early hour. Those who looked saw his large, sweat-drenched frame roll past in a slow, lumbering jog. He pictured them standing at the window, smirking at the sight of him over the sight of their morning coffee. Then, ignoring their imaginary faces, he focused on the path ahead of him, desperately trying to ignore the shrieking maelstrom within from his body and mind.

“What do you think will happen? If you keep running?”

“…nothing.”

“ Exactly. Nothing. You’ll be the same. Fat. Weak. Pathetic.”

“…”

“All the neighbors laugh at you.”

“…”

“The guys at school will find out.”

“…”

“Just stop now.”

“…no.”

“Stop loser. Nothing will change.”

Day after day he ran. Each time making it slightly further than before. As he ran, his thighs chafed painfully and his body became embalmed in sweat. Yet still he continued to run. Upon returning, each day he would shower then gaze at his naked body in the bathroom mirror, willing it to show a handsome chiseled face and tight, muscled body. But it was always his own disgustingly familiar face staring back — obese, moon-faced with multiple, wobbly chins. Rolls of fat oozed off him from all directions, with pendulous man-boobs and a large, round, drooping belly. The weighing scale stayed stubbornly at 97kg every day.

It didn’t matter. Still he ran every morning. Over the weeks, where leaving the house had been a Herculean struggle, it had now become a minor momentary speck of resistance before he launched himself through the doorway into dark chasm. Nothing seemed to be able to stop him.

“I told you you’d fail.”

“…”

“See. You can’t even walk anymore.”

“…”

“It’s been how many weeks now. You’re still huge.”

“…”

“And you always will be.”

“…yeah…”

He’d failed. Nothing had changed. His body still looked like a glistening, round, jiggly ball. The weighing scale still taunted him with 97kg. It had been like this for weeks. His knees ached with every step he took, as though they were complaining about the masses of fat they had to carry when he ran. His head felt heavy and leaden, weighed down by the mass of his failures, and the malicious voice in his mind. The voice was like a cackling demon in his mind, that had taken permanent residence and continually whispered in his ear. Telling him he would fail, that he was not good enough. That he should stop. And the voice had been right. No matter how hard he pushed himself, he had failed. Nothing had changed. The voice had gotten louder, fueled by all his failures and flaws.

He stood that morning at the familiar doorway, staring into the darkness. He could make out the familiar twists and turns of the street in the dim light. He remembered the sensation of the cool air and drizzle against his body as he ran. He stared out, almost longingly, before sighing and turning back inside.

“Why? You ran for nearly three months. Nothing changed. Nothing.”

“…I don’t know.”

“They all laugh at you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Nothing will change. You can ran all you want, you’ll just get fatter and fatter. The guys in school already laugh at you, talking about your tits, the size of your arse, everything. They’ll piss themselves if they know you’ve started running.”

“…Maybe.”

“Then why do-”

“Because it shuts you up!”

“…What do you mean?”

“Running every day makes you shut up. Lets me think, let’s me be clear and freer.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yeah, it does. It’s the only good thing I noticed from all this.”

“You’ll shut me up but it won’t hide the truth.”

“Even if I never lose weight, that’s ok. Getting rid of you is worth it. In fact, it’s even better. I’ll run every day if I have to, just to make sure you are gone. I don’t even care if everything else stays the same.”

“… you’re worthless.”

The thuds of his shoes on the concrete felt warmly familiar, as he once again ran in the early morning, after spending a week wrapped in pathetic self-pity and reflection. He welcomed the screaming of his muscles as old friends, who propelled him further and further into the cool, misty air. His body felt lighter and freer as he ran, as though he truly was releasing a great weight with every single step.

He had started his running journey to try to lose the mounds of fat that remained stubbornly attached to his body, jiggling like jelly with every step. That fat still remained a part of him. But that was okay. He had unexpectedly lost something much heavier. Freedom from the negative voice propelled him to run now, day after day. With each step, his mind cleared more and more. By the time he returned home, he was so light that he was practically buoyant.