The lights are too bright, and the director is sleazy 30-something with pepper hair, and too much cologne. He keeps touching her leg (she recoils at the touch, but pretends it doesn't bother her), reminds her to smile because girls were pretty when they smile. The world didn't need more ugly.

"Look over here, Risette!"

"Keep smiling, Risette!"

"Beautiful, Risette!"

And just once she wants to shout: "That's not my name."


Sometimes she's jealous of how popular Risette is.

When she walks down the street it's Risette they want, they fantasize at night with the bedroom door locked, and no one else in the room.

Not her.

Never her.

Until she remembers, she's just a character she created (she can always get rid of her when she's done).

It's a comforting thought, even if it isn't true.


She's hungry (she's always hungry), and she thinks maybe it'll be okay if she skips out on the diet today, and gets a bowl of ramen from the stand down the block. Where the noodles are chewy, and they make their own broth.

But she (can't) doesn't.

She has a photo shoot in an hour, and she needs to fit into her swimsuit.

(They) she would die if her image was tarnished.


She's the kind of girl who swallows diet pills, and purges the rest.

It's become a vicious cycle. She tries to keep it down—really, she does—but her body must hate her too. It (won't) doesn't listen. Like everyone else around her.

Her voice was all she had, and she was losing it. She couldn't go where she wanted, eat what she wanted; she was the prisoner of her own body.

So, she sticks her fingers down her throat, thinks to herself, 'This is the last time. After this, no more!' every time, but it's never enough.

The toilet is her best friend.

It's always been there. Even when she's had no one else to talk to.

I have to be thinner.

I have to look the part.

All the while losing who she was from the start.


No one would like the real me.


The room is too pink, and standing in front of her is a girl with auburn pigtails, and a yellow bikini. She keeps feeding her lies (it bothers her, but she pretends she can't hear it), tells her to spread her legs wider because that's all she's good for. The world didn't need a washed-out idol.