couldn't help myself.
@the-wild-things, story and bio are up!
tryout for mtw.
the bio for my character is inspired by the book, wintergirls, by laurie halse anderson.
Name: Violet Alexander
Collection: Coming soon to a collection near you
Age: 17 and a half
Quote that describes your character: "I just want to be perfect"
Hometown: New York City
Current City: New York City
School: The Dalton School
Style: Crisp, perfect, classic, and preppy. Only downs in the finest, and lives in button-downs.
Bio: Thrived in a pretty doll-like house, the word perfection was seared on her skinny chest since the day she was born. People say perfect isn't possible, but Violet claims that flawless is her middle name. She grew up among her an older sister, a sister with a future, high grades, and a beautiful face. A sister that made Violet work harder, strive for bigger shadows, and smile though it pained her. But soon, Violet worked herself much too hard, and her image got gripped into the chaos. So Violet and her sister, Lila, competed. Competed on who could be the skinniest, the branch among the logs, the lightest on who could touch the cotton candy clouds. Violet's weight plummeted to the ground, her ribs pressing out the breathe, so visible you could hear them call. And as time passed, Lila was on the border between life and death, soon falling into the evil within. An evil so dark and overcoming, that she was a living ghost. Until Lila couldn't handle it anymore, as a cloud of death overcame her and brought her away. The Alexander family was deeply saddened from her death, leaving others to believe that a painful disease took Lila from them. But Violet couldn't stop. Now with her sister's face taunting her in the photos, a smile that seemed to call, I'm skinnier! Violet's descent into the powerful vortex of anorexia is slowly killing her, as perfection is still the only word on her mind. The clock ticking on the wall isn't on how long until her World History test, it's how long she has left to live. And believe me, it's not very long.
Model: Daphne Groeneveld
I let out a rush of fatigued air through my nose, quickly twisting and untwisting a lock of my thin hair. I tapped my pencil over and over and over on my leg, memorizing the dates for my World History test, letting the knife-like pencil point stab into my skin every time I messed it up.
After managing to memorize everything I needed, my bottom lip shook with hunger. That's how much I craved a slice of apple pie, a warm grilled chicken salad, a tasty piec-
I tried to stop.
Food rushed through my brain like the dollar menu at McDonalds. I clutched my groaning stomach, hearing it scream for food, beg. The only thing I ate today was three carrots, two pieces of lettuce, and one pitiful slice of cheese. My weight was slowly dropping, the only thing that didn't forcefully put a smile on my bruised lips.
Speaking of weight, I stood up, my head spinning from hunger. I walked into my bathroom, slipping off all my clothing on the way. Clothing meant extra weight. Extra weight meant fat. I stood on the cool, silver-like machine, it's clock, the only thing that stands between my life and death, spinning wildly.
I frowned. 99 isn't good. 99 isn't light. It doesn't float, it doesn't mean wide space between your legs, or sunken cheek bones. It isn't good enough.
I could still hear my sister. Her lovely, wire-like body laughing at me. She was 61 pounds when she entered the grave. But I want to go past 61. I want to be 0. Zero. Nothing. Nothing at all.
"Dinner's ready!" My mother's shrill voice rang in my ears like a telephone, a voice that sounded like angels, only for a split second. Something is wrong with me today. Something is wrong with my head, because my stomach lead my body downstairs, my eyes drooling at the sight of dinner.
"Lots of great food today!" Her voice said, sounding distant and small, like a secret I couldn't bear to listen to.
"I have a history test to study for. I'll eat later," My dry lips performed, putting on a show, a facade, for the rest of my body. My stomach laughed. Not because something was funny, but because it was tired. Just tired, and exhausted. Ready to crawl into a small space, and never return.
"Okay," My mother smiled, "Good job."
Good job on what? My work? My grades? Nothing mattered anymore. I was lifeless.
I was dead.
A wandering spirit, in search of only one thing in life.
When I'm zero pounds, I'll be perfect.
(is it okay? i hope it doesn't sound very fake. i've never met or have been aneroxic so i don't really know what it is like. so i am only basing this off of books.)