She looked in the mirror and proceedes to turn away from the mere shame and disregard for herself and her flesh and blood. Tears streamed incessantly. Mind spaced out and foggy. Her abdomen - cramped with hunger.
To her, an imperfect body reflects an imperfect person. Perfection in her eyes was an imperfection of the norm. Bones framed her tiny build. Slight, some people might say. She looks out of the window. The cold, damp weather - unkind and overbearing. Like the torrentious draft of wind that shudders her down to the bone.
Tired and weary. Emaciated and Pulverised.
10 years passed. Slowly.
The battle was gradually and then suddenly lifted. Like a sharp piercing bolt of light through the darkest nights.
It finally occured to her.
As the facade she clung onto wittled away, she gathered steam and reached out for help.
All that's left now is a scarred face..
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