She was the best dressed girl. She could have been treated like a queen. But when she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror it ruined her day. So she hid. No one could understand her pain.
How could she suffer being something so many people live breathe and die to be?
The best dressed girl stopped washing her clothes. She broke all the mirrors but sometimes she could see her skin bound body in the toaster and TV. She would cry all alone.
She ruined all of her pastel shirts with waterfalls. She stopped eating. She tried to stop thinking. She washed her face with rubbing alcohol. She smelled like hospitals. Ketosis made her weak. Dehydration made her shake.
The world around her was a mess. Sometimes she fell to the floor and blended in with her heaps of dirty wrinkled clothes. She felt lace and satin and leather beneath her. She longed to wear dresses and heels, skirts and boots, something that made her feel alive.
One day she untangled herself from the clothing and ran madly to her bathroom. She turned the tap on because it made her feel safe and brave. She looked in the place her mirror should have been and smiled. She saw nothing.
No shadow, no harsh lines, no stretch marks, no pimples, no stray hairs. She began to laugh and her body caught motion in a way it hadn’t for months. It began moving to a rhythm she couldn’t hear or understand.
She reached for a fragment of glass where the mirror used to be. It was small but big enough to grab and sharp enough to pierce. She did not choose the action her body was taking. But she did not stop it. She knew what needed to be done for her to become the best dressed girl.
She clutched the glass in her hand and her palm bled softly. Her arm and hand and fingers worked in unison with the depths of her mind to bring the glass to her face and pierce her right eye. She felt nauseous and stiff. Her stomach tightened as her body betrayed itself and pierced her left eye as well.
The world around her became black. And in that blackness she could not see herself. She could not hate herself. And through the dizzyness and nausea and blood pooling on the floor after rushing past her lips she laughed.
The best dressed girl was blind. And she had never felt so alive.