Jane's Awakening

I feel the need to preface this story with some sort of an explanation: this would presumably be the first chapter in what may end up being a fantasy story. It starts off with similarities to my own life, but I'm not expecting it to stay there. The problem is I don't know and I would like to have some honest feedback about whether or not this piece is worth building a foundation on or not. Perhaps I could tone it back to a 13+ rating but I don't want to limit myself with wherever this may possibly go. So have at it- feel free to be brutally honest. I'm not so in love with this piece that it would kill me to rework it or scrap it entirely.


Jane sat on the toilet, remembering a time, seemingly not too long ago, when she marveled that her breasts were actually laying on her stomach. That was when she was 9 months pregnant with her fourth child, ten years ago.

Now, she wasn't marveling. She was weeping, because she saw that her breasts were once again using her stomach as their personal resting place, her stomach's spherical shape propping up her rather oddly shaped, flaccid breasts. Only now she wasn't pregnant. It wasn't her baby holding up her milk-engorged mammary glands, but rather fat, just plain fat holding up her deflated, obsolete breasts.

"Moooom!" Janes self-pitying reverie was cut short by a word that interrupted her day countless times,in an infinite variety of ways. Experience told her immediately what that particular 'Moooom!" represented- frustration with a currently abhored sibling and Jane's instant analysis of that oft-repeated word was proven to be spot on when the "Moooom!" was quickly followed by "You're such a BITCH!"

Jane continued to sit on the toilet. Although she had finished her "business" some time ago, she realized that she had been sitting here long enough to have to go again. Jane was seriously wondering at the state of her life. Sitting for long periods at a time on the toilet, weeping over her seriously appled shape while her kids were expecting her to jump to the rescue in yet another utterly useless fight.

Jane had been handling things pretty much on her own now, although she still depended on her ex husband for some financial support. Jane became something she swore she would never be- a stay at home mother who's immersion into motherhood left her totally financially dependent. She loved staying home with her kids but felt nothing but shame, a sense of letting them down, stupidly allowing herself to become virtually obsolete in today's job market. The fact of the matter was Jane's ex didn't make enough to support them and Jane couldn't find a job. She was living off of the proceeds from the sale of their house and that was quickly dwindling. The house, all of their savings, were gone to the attorneys and as a sacrifice to the Divorce Gods, as well as to the incessant demands made by her beautiful, forever needy children. For the first time in her life, Jane feared true poverty.

And yet here she still sat, on the toilet, head in hands now, wondering if this was really the most she could expect from her life.

A thunderous crash brought her head up, her hands soggy with her tears and snot. Some drops had dripped off her chin, onto her large belly and waterfalled onto the tops of her thighs. She managed to squeeze out more pee, one last time, before she committed to standing up and slowly, methodically, reluctantly ran out of excuses to stay in the bathroom.

The first thing Jane noticed when she stepped out of the bathroom was the silence. Not a peep. "Well, this isn't good", Jane said to herself.