A/N: Yay for writing at 2 AM! DISCLAIMER: This is not meant to offend anyone. No, I am not against blonde people, or skinny people. A lot of girls can probably relate to this. Read and enjoy, sorry if it's bad or if you find it offensive. My intentions were good.
Her green eyes darted to the corner of the room. She wasn't supposed to be here, she knew it. After her thirteenth birthday, she wasn't supposed to exist. Nobody like her was supposed to exist after his or her thirteenth birthday.
She crept stealthfully from one patch of shadow into another, hoping she could observe without being seen. The bluish light reflected off the gargantuan 109" television, illuminating the perfect faces. Plump, pouty lips, golden baked skin, small delicate noses…all were bathed in the surreal blue light.
The blonde hair fell gently in voluminous curls among the round, doctored breasts. Their chests rolled flawlessly into a perfectly flat stomach, thin hips, small thighs, and perfectly manicured feet.
She remembered the eating restrictions they forced upon her when she became over 110 pounds. To this day, she had sworn never to eat a piece of celery again. Calories, carbs, fat…that's what her life consisted of back then.
On every girl's thirteenth birthday, she was judged. Usually, if the problem couldn't be fixed with plastic surgery, she had to go.
"We're aiming for the perfect society," they told her.
There were other reasons, too. She had found Angela and Maddie kissing one day, and about two weeks later, they were gone. Janna could never get above a B in Geometry, so they took her too. Some other girls mentioned they had trouble believing in Jesus, and within weeks, they all disappeared.
"We're trying to rid your life of conflict," they said.
She raised her head, shaking off the memories, staring once again into the colorful black hole that threatened to suck her in. "Equality," said the pinky thin reflection of light, "that's what we're going for. You are all the same as everyone else." She picked up her Louis Vouton purse her stiletto heels clicked away, miles and miles of leg away from the tiny scrap of clothing society liked to call a microskirt. Another human Barbie doll appeared on the screen.
"You want those boys, don't you, ladies?"
The four clones sitting on the couch nodded robotically.
"Breast enlargement surgery! Wake up America. It's 2090."