she took the knife to her icy, white skin. she inhaled deeply and composed herself for a nanosecond and reminded herself that this was a fitting retribution for crimes she had committed previously in the dining room. one chicken breast fillet, a medley of butter drenched green matter and mountains upon mountains of starchy mashed potato. she just about got away with dessert; her mother noticed the tears banging on the surface of her eyes and decided to spare this pure child from even more torment. the full-fat yoghurt now bides its time in the fridge for another day…

words could not demonstrate how angry she was at herself and her over-bearing family. i mean, it is her body and her choice. she slowly closed her eyes and dug the razor into her spindly wrists and grimaced in pain, having to remind herself of the glutinous banquet that forced this punishment onto her. as the blood trickled down her arm, dancing its crimson samba onto her thighs. she stared gleefully at the mess she had created, what a glorious flood of red anesthesia that temporarily eased the shame and guilt of the meal that still gloated at her in her stomach.