5 feet, 8 inches, 120 pounds.
She sits on her bed, trails of tears winding around jutting features. She cries to God to be what They want her to be. She had always been such a plain girl. . . with mousy brown hair and eyes of the same chocolate color, she wasn't one to be noticed. She wants to be perfect in Society's eye. . .
Another pill. . . another day.
She's eaten nothing for three days now. Stepping on the scale, she smiles genuinely for the first time since her Starvation began...
115 pounds.
Weeks pass. Each day brings with it a few more pills. Her figure, once beautifully thin, is now gaunt and painfully emaciated. The clothes which once looked tailor-made now hang like an empty sweater over a chair's back. Her eyes are dull and lifeless. . . her mind is almost gone. . .
100 pounds.
The mirror is still lying; it feeds her nothing but deceit. She's not yet satisfied... she wants to be thinner still.
87 pounds.
The pretty little girl is gone; in her hospital bed lies a listless zombie. She is too weak to walk. Her breath comes in gasps. For the third time today she rips the IV from her arm. Each automatic facet of the life that remains is controlled by instruments. The constant beeping of one machine pays tribute to her heartbeat.
Beat. . . Beat. . . Beat. . .
The sounds run together.
The distinct beating stops.
She is gone.
