General

Martina King watched the models. They were what she was supposed to be, that's what "model"means, right? Something that we know works, a path to follow and emulate. Her eyes fell on their bones, images that would haunt her dreams, always telling her not to eat, not to be who she was supposed to be, not to develop her mind but instead be a hollow reflection of vanity...

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, September 20, 2015.
General

The mannequin stared back at Saskia, thin and white. Size 00, no boobs and a caucasian face. She glanced down at her body, only fifteen and already a size eight with a C cup. She sighed. She could diet, throw her lunch in the trash everyday - Mom would never know. She could take breakfast "on the run," leaving with a mouthful and then feeding the rest to the ducks en-route to school. Dinner was dinner though, else she'd have to confess it. Weekends would be tricky; lots of family meals, lots of cooking smells and visiting grandparents, uncles, aunts and friends. Difficult. She eyed the mannequin again. She was going to look like that, except still brown of course. Then her friends would be jealous, the boys would chase her and she could post the new pics online.