Pretty Little Things.

Eat it.

Devour it.

Ravage it.

Destroy it.

She'll eat it till their voices are drowned out by the crunching of salty chips and the chewing of candy bars and the swishing of diet coke falling down her throat at an alarming rate.

You would think she would choke.

She guzzles it down, forces it down, tears streaming down her pale, thin face, salty tears blending together creating a glassy appearance to her doll like features, even more so creating the look of a fragile porcelain doll that could break at any moment.

Eat it, fatty.

Crunch. Bite. Grind. Chew. Swallow. Swish.

You're disgusting, so you better keep eating it, you know you want to.

Eat. Savor. Devour. Consume. Inhale.

Keep on eating till you can't eat anymore.

That's just what she'll do.

She eats the stashed food that she keeps under the sink in her bathroom, hidden away behind toilet paper and cleaning supplies, a part of her hoping it gets contaminated and she'll die from eating it all.

She stores candy and chips and donuts and snack cakes, a 2 liter of diet coke, she stores it all. Just so she can feel full, just so she can purge it all away later.

You'll be such a pretty little girl when it's over, Ginny-bee, so cute. So tiny. So thin. You won't be fat anymore, like mommy hates. You won't have rolls of ugly slathered on your thighs, and arms, and hips, you will have nothing there for them to pick at, nothing left to break.

Ginny smiles at the thought as she continued to inhale the fattening foods in the same glutinous fashion she does every night. It was a comfortable routine. She was comfortable with this masochistic pleasure. Eating it all, eating it all until her abdomen swelled, and her stomach ached, and her teeth hurt, and her throat screamed in protest with every chip she swallowed without chewing, and until she felt as if when she took a single bite, her whole stomach would implode.

That's when she could get her euphoria.

Look at you now, Ginny-Bee, what would Alex Jennings say to you? I'd bet he say you were a hottie now, huh? He wouldn't moo when you walked pass him anymore. What would Chelsey Duran do if she saw you? I don't think she would laugh anymore, she probably wouldn't recognize you.

Ginny frowned and put down the empty bag of chips she clutched in her bony fingers. She stood up on shaky legs at that very thought, bringing herself to the cracked bathroom mirror to gaze at her teeny tiny self in the reflection.

"That's because you look sick, Ginny!" she screamed, looking at herself in outrage.

She saw the bluish green veins just below her pale skin, she saw her brittle hair knotted and frail just above her shoulders, she saw her hip bones jutting out over her size 0 shorts, and with that,

Suddenly, her expression softened.

"No no, Ginny-Bee, you look so skinny, so cute," she smiled, nodding.

Her bloodshot, red rimmed eyes were twinkling with tears, the cerulean blue irises looking duller then usual. She scrutinized herself again, taking in her chapped lips, stained with grease, and salt granules visible, she grimaced at the smeared chocolate on her right cheek, she shook her head sadly.

"No, Ginny.... You're wrong." she whispered, tugging at her messy disheveled black hair.

She needed to get it to go away now. It was getting too heavy. She could practically feel the fat settling in her stomach, she could picture it traveling to her butt, and her thighs, and her face, she saw herself morphing into the fat girl she had once been, right infront of her eyes in the cracked bathroom mirror before her.

Get rid of it, Ginny. Now.

Ginny quickly moved the few steps til she was in front of the small black toilet of her bathroom. She bit her lip for a moment, contemplating her next move, as if there was any other option besides throwing it all up. She shook her head, and got down on her knees.

She hissed from the coldness of the tile against her bare knees, she couldn't wait till this was over. Till she had an empty stomach, and a unbelievable drowsiness fell over her. She couldn't wait to feel skinny, for only a little bit.

She took a deep breath and counted to ten. As she always did when she prepared for this. No matter how many times she did it, it still burned her throat, and made her eyes sting, and he stomach retch and twist. She had to prepare herself for that.

She took a deep breath through her nose, and lifted her middle finger and pointer finger to her mouth. Admiring the fact that her nails looked fabulous, and hoping that she wouldn't mess them up right now. She slid them down her throat with ease, and waited till her fingers hit that spot, that magic place, like an eject button, and it all came out.

Just like that, all of the coke and cake and chips and candy came rushing out of her body and into the blue toilet water in front of her eyes, mixing and turning and meshing together into one disgusting blob of rejected food.

She grimaced when she tastes the familiar vile flavor left in her mouth, and then frowned as she noticed large traces of red in her vomit, she wiped her mouth with her wrist, and it came away bright red. She was bleeding again.

"Shit," she said quietly.

She started to stand, but suddenly, even that simple task seemed like too much for her. She leaned against the toilet for leverage, shaking her head, trying to clear her thoughts. It didn't work.

She blinked hard as she saw bright flashes of color in front of her eyes, but even with blinking, nothing changed. Suddenly her head felt as if it weighed a million pounds, and she could hear her pulse race. She faught to stand, she needed to get to the medicine cabinet and take a pill, the kind the doctors gave her to make her full, but as she stood up again, her knees buckled.

Her head fell hard against the toilet seat, causing her to cry out in pain. She fell backwards, hitting her head against the floor softly, with a light thud. She blinked rapidly, but everything was turning red. She tried to speak, but her mouth was slack.

"Ginny? Are you okay in there?" she heard her little sister ask from outside of the door.

She attempted to speak again, only to taste blood, and instantly feel more discouraged.

She couldn't fight to stay awake any longer, and her vision left, and all she could do was wonder how long it would take her to die.