She won't change her clothing in gym anymore because some girl told her nobody wanted to see her fat. She stopped eating breakfast and lunch and will only eat a small portion for dinner. She eyeballs the number on the scale before she leaves for school, then again when she gets home, and one more time just before she curls up in her bed to sleep.
At first there is no change and it sends her into a deep depression that darkens the mood of everyone around her, let alone her self. Un-explainable cuts begin to appear on her arms and thighs. Every day she runs until she drops, then she runs some more. Her parents try to talk to her but she's already blocked them out.
It took months before she looks at the scale and sees her goal number staring back at her. She wants to cheer but a voice is telling her that she can do better, that she can be perfect, but only if she works harder at her goal. Her focus stays completely on the voice telling her how to be perfect and she doesn't recognize the danger that she's running into along the lines of her so called "goals".
The depression disappears, but in its place is an unhealthy obsession with numbers. There are numbers in everything, the food she eats, the liquids she drinks, the the ones that stare back at her from the scale she steps foot upon each time. Numbers take over her life and her grades slide from an average percentage to complete failure.
The number on the scale whispers praises because this is the first time it has seen two digits instead of three. People are taking notice of her now but she no longer comes for their attention because she's not at her goal yet. Speaking softly the voice continues to inspire her to work harder, to eat even less. her parents are past the worried stage,but now they aren't sure how to get through to her.
It was as she stepped onto her scale for that one last time and seeing that one beautiful number that her body then gives out. She collapses soundlessly, blood seeping from her mouth and cutting off her air way.
The voice congratulates her and cackles cruelly. The last thing she hears as her vision fades to black is a whispered goodbye.
Her parents return home from a secret visit to the counsellor, as they walk in they find her. Her mother falls to her knees, a soundless wail coming from her lips. Her father just stares at the pile of skin and bones that used to once be his daughter and he presses one hand to his open mouth, trying not to cry. They call the police but it was too late.
