unlikeable character contest -- my entry.

Likeably Unlikeable

Nobody really likes Sarah. She’s always bluntly speaking her mind, snapping at others to get off her lawn, and is just overall an irritable person. And, to top it all off, she’s not exactly the skinniest person alive. Far from it. Her portly face and bitchy demeanor have made her the butt of the neighborhood’s jokes. Kids are told to stay away from her, teenagers are always warned to stop mayonnaise-ballooning her house, and the adults all steer wide and clear of her. The occasional newbie to the neighborhood always goes over to try and befriend her, but inevitably falls into the same psyche the rest of the community has. The Sarah Psyche, they call it.

“Sarah should just pack up and move,” the adults mutter as they drag their kids off of her calf-length, verdant, feral grass.

“But she can’t, ‘cuz she’s too fat!” the children giggle, sticking their tongues out and blowing raspberries at her bloated face.

Sarah just stands on her sagging wooden porch and bellows out threats as she tries to sneak back inside without getting stuck in the doorjamb again.

- - -

A knocking on the creaky wooden door wakes Sarah from her sleep.

“Hello? Hello?! Is there anybody here?” a voice calls from outside.

Sarah picks herself up off of her bed, the springs sighing as they’re relieved of the weight.

“Buzz off!” she yells. “Nobody’s home, go away!”

There are a few moments of silence. Sarah thinks that she has successfully scared away the attempted patron, but then a whining at the door stops her return trip. She rolls her eyes, brushes her hair back from her face, and snaps the door open.

“What do you want?!” she screeches. She blinks as she realizes that there’s nobody at the door. Looking downwards, she notices a small dog. She kicks it. “Get outta here!”

The dog whimpers, hobbling to its feet.

“The puppy eyes won’t work on me, mutt!” she spits, turning around. She’s about to slam the door shut, but she decides not to. The tiny terrier whimpers again before it trots slowly in. It pushes itself against the door, trying to close the heavy slab of wood.

- - -

Sarah’s out for the first time in ages, walking with her dog when she first sees the sign on the lamppost.

“Lost dog,” she reads slowly. “$50 reward. Call the number below if you’ve seen him. We miss him so much!”

Looking around quickly, she rips the sign off the large wooden post. Crumpling it, she throws it into the trash and runs with the dog back inside her small wooden shack, bolting the door shut behind her.

- - -

Sarah sits with the terrier in her living room. The terrier is on the moth-eaten couch, and Sarah is sitting with her legs crossed on the worn, faded carpet. Her heavy breathing bounces off the wooden floorboards, kicking up tiny dust clouds. The dog paws at one of the dusty puffs as it wafts towards the couch. Sarah giggles, catching herself as she does.

“What should your name be?” she grunts, trying unsuccessfully to chase the smile off her lips.

The terrier perks up at this, its ears raised.

“Terry?”

The dog’s head goes back down as it rolls across the couch howling.

“That’s a no… Hm.”

A memory flashes through her head as her heavy expression lightens a little.

“Jamie?”

The dog sits upright, staring at her with bright eyes and a wagging tail.

“Jamie it is, then.”

- - -

Sarah emerges from the bathroom, her breath slightly fresher and her brown hair slightly cleaner than before. Jamie sits on her bed expectantly, waiting for her. She bounds over to meet the puppy, a smile on her face.

“Hi there, Jamiekins!” she coos, lightly scratching the dog’s head. Jamie’s head lowers as he sighs contentedly. He looks up at Sarah when she stops touching his head, seemingly pouting at her.

“Sorry, Jamie, I need to sleep… and you do too,” she mumbles tucking herself into her overly small bed. She clicks off the small bedside lamp. “Sweet dreams.”

- - -

“Hey everyone, look, it’s Fat Sarah!”

The kids all laugh as she walks into the classroom, her auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail on her small head. Her mother had told her it had looked beautiful. Now, her small stocky self wasn’t so sure.

Sarah brushes past her abrasive classmates, plopping down at her desk at the back left corner of the classroom. As the bell rings, the teacher walks into the room. He eyes Sarah sitting dejectedly in the back of the classroom.

“Fatty!”

She looks up in response to the nickname.

“Clap these erasers for me, will ya? And try not to make a mess outta yerself.”

He gingerly hands her the erasers as the class holds back snickers.

Sarah watches as her classmates horse around on the play structures, sighing once she returns to clapping eraser number two out of ten. She tries to do her best with the erasers in an attempt to please Mr. Girde so that he might like her. So that he might not call her “Fatty” anymore in front of everyone.

Suddenly, a rambunctious third grader runs by and knocks her down, sullying the clean erasers and leaving her in a cloud of chalk dust. The little boy laughs raucously as he speeds away. Sarah just stays where she is and starts to cry. Now she was never going to get those erasers clean!

“What’s the matter?” a voice asks.

She opens her eyes and wipes her face, leaving behind two chalk marks. She sniffles before addressing the older boy.

“Th-that meanie ran into me and-and-and made me drop my erasers!” she sobs, the tears rolling down her cheeks again.

The boy takes out a tissue from his jeans pocket, wiping her face.

“Well a big fifth grader like you shouldn’t worry about that, right? After all, you could go beat him up!” he smiles, and Sarah tries to smile back. She’s sure it looks just like some sort of epileptic face. He helps her up to her feet and takes a pair of erasers. “Who are you clapping erasers for?”

Sarah hiccups.

“Mr. Girde.”

“Oh… well I’ll help you with them! I had Mr. Girde before, and I know exactly how clean he likes his erasers. What’s your name?”

The recess bell rings and the boy hands Sarah the last of the erasers.

“Well, that’s all of them I think,” he says, dusting the chalk on his jeans. He smiles again at Sarah. “Mr. Girde should like those erasers, they’re super clean!”

Sarah tries again to smile.

“What’s your name?” she mumbles, the words stumbling clumsily out of her mouth. “And could you help me clean erasers again tomorrow?”

“Jamie. My name’s Jamie,” he says. “And I’d love to.”

Sarah waits for Jamie near the back of the school the next day at afternoon recess. But as the recess bell rings, she realizes that he’s not coming. She hurriedly claps the ten erasers, not even bothering to get all the chalk dust out. Mr. Girde had yelled at her yesterday. As she walks back into the classroom, she hears an announcement over the intercom, echoing through the tile hallways.

“We are very sorry to announce the death of Jamie, the captain of the school soccer team. He was hit by a car on his way home yesterday, and…”

She drops the erasers and races for the door.

- - -

Sarah opens the door, awkwardly welcoming in the little boy.

“You found my doggie?” he asks. She nods numbly as she brings out Jamie.

“Oreo!”

Jamie races across the floor and into the boy’s arms. Sarah bites her lip and is about to bark at the two to get the deuce out, but then the little boy looks up at her.

“He told me he really likes you! Can we come and visit you sometime?”

Sarah blinks in confusion as a smile slowly creeps across her face.