We were standing in line at the airport. It was my mom's turn to go through the security check, but she stopped to scratch an itch. Without hesitating, you cut ahead of us.
"What do you think you're doing?" Mom demanded. "Can't you see I'm waiting in line?"
"You weren't moving, so I went ahead," you said, nonchalant.
"Wait your turn, young lady. One extra minute won't hurt you." Mom responded calmly.
"Oh, go die somewhere," you said.
Mom saw red.
She left her luggage aside, hoping ten-year-old-me would take care of it. She turned around to face you, violence in her eyes. I could almost hear the slap coming. And then she changed her mind. Mom decided to ignore you and move on.
"Run and hide, you fat lady. You piece of shit," you shouted, for the whole airport to hear. My mom paused only for a second, letting her hair fall on her face so it would be unrecognizable. She didn't want anyone to see her tears.
My mom might have forgiven you, but I did not. Who did you think you were? You, with your polished nails and neatly trimmed hair. You, who sported expensive watches and luxurious handbags. You, who looked like a front-page model even after a twelve-hour flight. So beautiful outside, yet ugly within.
And so I wait at my window, coffee in hand, my notes within reach. Twelve years have passed since that day at the airport, and you have no idea how bad a shitstorm I will stir up for you.
You know that sweet coworker who keeps giving you chocolates? That's me. You know that neighbour who leaves anonymous gifts (full of oily snacks) outside your door? That's me. You know why your alarms never go off in time for you to hit the gym? Me again. I hacked into your mobile phone (it was surprisingly easy) and silenced all your early alarms.
I got an apartment right next to yours, so I can spy on you through my window. I bribed your doorman to let me into your house when you're away, so I can replace all your medicines with my own concoctions. Ones that will make you gain weight faster than you can lose it.
You see, that day at the airport where you called my mother a fat piece of shit was the tipping point for her. She had been battling weight all her life. She only ate greens, went on crazy diets, did yoga, ran a lot, even tried surgery—but nothing worked. Something in her hormones just made her permanently overweight.
And as if the health risks weren't worrying enough, she also had to fight against people like you. Entitled brats who thought that being thin made you superior. That fat people needed to be ridiculed. This took a toll on her mental health, and that in turn made her gain more weight. A vicious cycle, fueled by people like you.
After that day, my mom descended into a downward spiral of depression. She stopped eating and going out. She stopped being a mother and left me to fend for myself. Six years after that, she died from a heart attack.
You killed my mother and you ruined my childhood. For this, I will ruin your life.
Tomorrow, you will go to work, only to get fired. No other company will hire you, and you will never know why. Let's just say an anonymous tip circulated a rumor about you to every company out there.
Your boyfriend will see proof (that I created) of you cheating on him, and leave you. Your parents will stop calling, and your friends will stop visiting. You will continue eating all the unhealthy food I sneak in. You will become overweight.
And then, I will write a story about you and let the whole world know how you ruined my mother. You will shut yourself out of society and rot away in solitude.
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