A/N: Well. What do you think of this one?
Just a warning, however. It is written in third person.
She stretched out her hands. Upwards towards the sun. The round globe of harsh light which burned the bubbles of thin skin from her arms, ripping hairs from them. Little, blond hairs. Not even the decent ones – but the ones which stung and caused you to flinch.
Her arms were lines, fluid and lengthy and watery. As if amputated from the mess of a girl which they were attached, her legs separated and joined with the solid silk of water. Whipping around her tear-stung cheeks and uneven chin, matted locks of wild blond hair followed behind her. They were snatched from a floating place in the air when she moved. Scissors would soon shear this beauty from her.
Her toes pointed, lifting her upwards to tuck into a spin which pulled on her temples. Briefly separating her body from her thoughts, it brought her immense comfort. She was war-torn and bedraggled, made up with the fragments of a smile.
She was exhausted. Her limbs shook when they held a position too long. Her fingers trembled in their bent, still frames. Her bones ached. Her muscles seared and dripped with acid which dared not permeate the air around her. She was a dancing, flailing skeleton; harsh and bright as a melted knife. Her bones jutted out at every capable exit, poking their way through the pop of the skin. Her fat was pooled on her stomach. The rank, sour stench of vomit stained her abdomen and neck.
I suppose it could have been said she was too far gone for anyone to save her. But she doubted this. Somewhere, buried deep beneath the soiled layers of cracked sanity laid a beautiful girl enamored with the world in which she was placed. She was hated by herself and loved by those she needed to fear. Was this her fatal mistake? Only to a point.
Her turn tossed her like a rag doll. Finally, her legs crumpled and could carry her no more.
"Angel."
She was called. Her blue eyes pushed themselves upwards. The throbbing veins lashed in protest. In response, her eyelids dropped soon after. "Yes."
A tapping noise. Pen on clipboard. "You are not preforming at maximum expectations."
A weak nod, a raspy answer. "Please…let me sleep." Sleep. Oh, how her very being groaned for sleep. She needed it. She wanted it. Wanted. Want. Want. WANT.
"I'm afraid that's not possible." All her hopes. Crushed. The fibers of her muscles unraveled, already preparing to stretch taut and preform another round. She must be ready. Even though it was impossible to be.
Her feet cracked and bled. The concrete was smeared. Red from today. Orange from yesterday.
Brown from the months before. Toe prints crisscrossing the room. Heel marks, fat and shiny, splattering where she had just fallen. The stinging which used to pervade all thought now dulled to a deep, hot pain which slapped the soles and arches of her feet.
"Are you ready to begin again?" The filmy voice spoke.
She nodded. "When may I go back to my crate?"
A pause; a silence saturating the firmament. The particles in the air became wet with lead.
"When you are perfect."
Hours passed. Harsh throw into crate, heavy chain lock placed on door. Body folded.
"Welcome back, Angel."