My bones showed through my thin skin and my lank body structure was unveiled. A plate full of various foods awaited me. The devils scepter glared at me on the pale table cloth. Half an apple lay in front of me, dripping transparent juice, my salty tears. I refuse to force it down my resistant throat. My stomach wrapped tight around me and my arms like tooth picks poking from my minuscule frame. My legs are sharp knives, fine at the edges, ready to kill. My eyes were once beautiful, now they bulge from my face and are the color of night, dark with fear. The skin on my glistening face barely stretches over my pointed cheekbones. My flaky skin is scales, layered and rough to the touch. My diminutive feet too small to fit the heals that were once my size. Something is dry inside me, too weak to stand, wailing the cries I hold captive inside, arcane thoughts. I feel my body tighten inside out, pulling me underwater to where I have to strain to fill my empty lungs with any oxygen. Dying inside, I am limp, trying to feed myself what ever I can find, then pushing my hand away from my open jaw without explanation. Yes. No. I argue, debating whether I should eat one bite. Just one. But that is one too many and I can't give in to the urging temptation. So what? One nibble can't hurt me. Yes. No. Yes. I come to an agreement in my mind, though my body doesn't move. This inner turmoil I have no control over pulls me in all directions until I split in two, shatter onto the floor in small shards. If I turn sideways, you can't see me, practically a ghost. I don't know how to make my body follow my commands now. I can't eat. I don't know how to try.