Author's Note: Sorry, I was so absorbed with the 1959 show The Twilight Zone, I had to write something like this. I got the idea and everything just kept coming out. It's a lot more dark that I originally intended the story to be, but I still like it.

Sorry to everyone that is waiting for Wild Thing..., but honestly I feel like this took precedent for good reason.

WARNING: there are some really horrible thoughts and things put in here. They are not my own beliefs, but I just felt as though it was a necessary extreme to make it clear and riveting. I may write more, but for now this is it. Please read and review, never tried anything quite like this before.

There is only one word to describe me. Fat. Which of course also makes me ugly. So ugly.

I was always at least a little bit chunky, even when I was a child. But back then people would point and say to my parents, "What an adorably chubby baby you have." But now…I'm hideous.

I hated the pounds of flesh sagging from my belly, the drooping stretch marks defiling every inch of my skin, and the rolls that only provoke cringes in people. Everything about my appearance was something that even I couldn't stand to look at.

I wasn't even sure how my best and only friend, Mortekai stood me. When we walk through the hallways in our school all I feel are the constant stares and the snickers that people don't bother to hide, since it didn't matter how I felt. Half the time, I expected even Morty too embarrassed to walk next to me, but he never failed me. He would give my shoulder a quick reassuring squeeze, "Casey… It's okay. You're damn gorgeous; it's their fault that they can't see-"

"I heard there was a beached whale, but I never imagined…" I stopped dead in my tracks.

There are no words to describe how awful it is to hear people point and laugh at the way you look. These people spit up these poisonous comments like I was just a creature, one that was barely deserving of life. Each new insult tears at your heart, and it never stops hurting. I tried…I desperately tried to convince myself that they are only words, and that I've heard them all my life, so it's like routine now. But no. It hurts every time and nothing I do or say to myself can stop that feeling of despair.

And it was only worse when I, myself started believing it too.

215. That became my existence. I wasn't exactly sure why I even stepped on the scale. I never did anything about that number I despised with the inner depths of my heart. It was a sort of masochistic need. Although I derived no pleasure from it, something always compelled me to pull that judgmental scale out from under the sink. That sadistic red arrow waved around rapidly for a few seconds, trying to make sense of the sudden bulbous creature that stepped on it. Then its thrashing slowed considerably, but not enough to actually make out a number yet. No. Of course not. It shifted teasingly, stopping for a split second to make you think you were only a 210, but no. Always that haunting number, 215.

No matter how many doughnuts and cookies and hamburgers and fries and pizza slices and candies I shoved down my throat my weight never changed. I knew it wouldn't help my situation, but I was frantically trying to see any, any number on that damn scale that wasn't my worst nightmare. But every time. Every click that my heart followed with that arrow, it always ended the same.

The only thing that possibly comforted me every time was the sound of Mortekai's voice, whether it was on the dull receiver of a phone, or face to face. I wished I could go to my parents, but their callous words hurt more than my classmates ever could.

"I don't see the problem," My father stared at me with a bored set of eyes. "Either realize for yourself that words can not actually hurt you, or lose the weight. Honestly, it's really not something to cry over, so stop whining and make a decision." He flipped his newspaper like it was his only care in the world.

"You father is quite right." My mother said never taking her eyes off the nail she was manicuring. "Now go upstairs and finish your homework."

Of course they wouldn't understand. They were born with a silver spoon in their mouths. They inherited their mansion and millions of dollars worth of well-invested stocks. No one in their circle of upper-class friends dared speak ill of them, so of course they knew nothing of how I felt.
I know I said that I wished I could talk to them about this, but I don't prefer them over Mortekai. No, not at all. Morty was literally my resolute, never-wavering pillar. He was perfect, but there was always a limit, even on perfection.

"Mortekai…" I drawled out lying on my back. I stared at my ceiling. There was no pattern. It was a dull eggshell white color, and it did absolutely nothing to improve my bleak mood. "Maybe…I should just, run away, or kill myself…Yeah that sounds good. Just end it. End it all." I felt my vision blurring.

"You know, these calls are starting to get me all angsty when I look at my bathroom scale." He joked. It was like we had this same conversation every time. That idea kept popping into my head, but Morty kept his cool and calmly listened until I realized what a foolish idea it was.

"I'm serious this time Mortekai…" I bit my lip to keep my aggressive tears at bay. "I hate myself. I'm so ugly. Anyone that looks at me says the same thing and it gets to me Morty, I can't stop it. I try to say what ever I can, but when everyone says the same thing and no one is there to tell me different…I start believing it myself…" Persistence pays off, my tears cascaded down my cheek like a waterfall crescendo. "And that scares me the most. Morty, I feel like I'm in a black hole and no amount of screaming or crying stops that awful hurt in my chest. I'm so ugly and there's nothing that can get me out of this hell I live in." Except for dying, but of course I didn't say that bit. He already knew, without me saying it. He knew that that's what I meant.

"Oh my GOD! Casey! What is your problem?" His ice-cold voice shattered my eardrum. "I love you Casey. You know I do. And I tell you that you're beautiful every single day. Not because I have to, not at all. I honestly believe it. I only think you're ugly when you act like this Casey. Honestly. The Casey that is amazing and completely gorgeous is the one that can stand up to those fuckers in the world. Not the one that only knows how to give up and complain." His tone was one of utter disgust.

I hung up. I know I should have stayed on the phone, but no.

That's when something in me snapped. He was right. Why am I complaining? I should be doing something about this horrible and quite literal weight dragging my life down.

I hated exercising. I hated sweating. I hated that swelling in my ankles from running.

So I didn't eat. Food was the enemy. If I ever let down my guard, that was when it would get me. But I knew. I was the ruler.

The pure aching pain from my abdomen cried out for the next few days. It was unlike anything I ever felt before. I sympathized with every movie or TV show that stranded some poor fellow on a deserted island. Hunger was a constant unrelenting companion that eventually mutated into savage starvation.

Morty only came up to me a week after our little spat. He was looking down the whole time and he was blushing all the way to his ears. It was really obvious that he's been practicing what he was going to say to me this entire week. If the constant dizzying hunger wasn't anchoring me down, I might've realized that it was cute. "I'm sorry Casey. I went a little far in our argument. Please forgive me."

He wasn't too far. Everything he said was spot on correct. I wish he was a little meaner. If only he wasn't so kind or sweet, he would have realized that.

I wheezed out, "It's all forgiven Morty." I meant to give him a little hug, but I practically collapsed on him, but I recovered my footing just in time to act like I simply lost my balance.

"Woah." Morty looked at me skeptically, "You look really pale."

I breathed in and out heavily with sweat running down my face the act of staying conscious was exhausting, but I managed to whisper out, "I'm fine."

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror that afternoon. It was a whole week of fighting off the urge to eat. I succumbed a few times, but it was only the necessary calories I needed.

I reached down and pulled out the horror that was my bathroom scale. I took a deep breath. This time I was confident that I at least changed my weight even if it was only by a pound or two. I certainly had blurry vision, but I didn't need perfect vision to see the inky black numbers, 215.

I didn't even louse an ounce! My eyes watered and I sat down on the toilet. What was the point? Forget it. I should just eat whatever I want.

"No!" A familiar voice scolded me. It was Morty's. I didn't even hear him come in. "You've worked so hard this whole week, keep going!" He encouraged me like a best friend should have.

"You're right." I grinned determined through my river of tears.

Weeks went by, they morphed into months, then into a full year. And not a thing happened. I was still the same 215 pounds. I almost gave up every week; it was like another deep scar formed every time I saw that ugly number staring back at me, but Morty, sweet Morty was always there to support me.

On my anniversary of the big day I started my diet, I felt more encumbered than usual. My knees wobbled dangerously, and my ribs felt like they were going to break if I breathed any harder. But I ignored it. But it happened while I was talking to Morty. I couldn't follow his words; he was shaking me and screaming at me. There was wet stuff on his face. I didn't realize it was raining. Then everything went black.

When I woke up my limbs felt like they were frozen in place. The same agonizing pain I felt in my stomach flared up again already getting rid of the numbing effects of sleep.

Morty stepped into the room after a thousand years. "Casey!" He rushed to my side and held one of my hands. "You're awake!" He sounded more desperate than ever.

My eyes were barely cracked open, enough to see the tears threatening to spill over his eyelids. I didn't realize that the success of my diet would affect Morty so much. I gathered all the moisture I had left in my mouth and wet my lips, "Morty…I…tried…" I said in-between labored breaths. "You…were…always…encouraging…me…but…but…I…couldn't…do…it." I paused for a minute to catch my breath, "I…couldn't…lose…the…weight."

His expression only worsened, "Wh-wh-what are you talking about Casey?" His bottom lip trembled, "Those were delusions Casey, the doctor told us about them. I wou-I would never encourage you to do something like this!" He grasped my hand tightly, his arm shook violently. He brought my frail hand up to his lips and he cried with open eyes that never left the side of my face. "I never wanted to see you like this ever." He wiped his nose. "Y-You-You're only 57 pounds Casey…" He hiccupped on his tears.

I closed my eyes unable to process this information let alone say anything. It was an odd feeling. The hole in my stomach didn't necessarily feel like it was filling, but it was less…painful?

I could still hear him. Mortekai had desperate tears streaming down his cheeks, "Why? Why couldn't you believe me? Why did you let it get this bad?" He sobbed, a few more droplets fell on my hand, but he brought his crying a bit more under control. "You were so beautiful."

Then I died. There wasn't any sort of profound, meaningful moment of closure in the last second of my death. My heart just stopped. And that was that. There was no sense of fulfillment.

Then I was just in a place that did not feel like either Heaven or Hell. It was a vast white room that went on to infinity. I wrung my hands, which I noticed were my old hands, stubby pork fingers that resembled sausages. They were so ugly, but…

I sighed with relief all the same. At the very least, I was me again.

There were a lot of people where I was. It was like an incredible utopian society. My eyes darted around every few seconds never focusing on a single object, everything was so intriguing.

It wasn't like there was any sight to behold, mind you. It was a simple crowd of people, but what amazed me was that everyone was different, yet everyone was laughing. All races, sizes, religions, genders, and sexualities were talking in a universal language and in the most genuine and beautiful way possible. There was lively conversation everywhere I turned, what "Rukshan" did in his life, or how "Shin Ju" died, and even how apparently "Jenny's" experiment created the existence of wolves.

I saw a newcomer appear right next to me. Instead of first taking a moment to absorb the culture in this eternal room, he walked forward immediately. Everyone ceased their conversation and said with a bright smile, "Welcome." And welcome he was.

This was the first time I smiled in years. I even saw my grandmother so that's where I decided to start. I finally regained use of my temporarily catatonic legs and trotted to my grandmother. Everyone ceased their conversation like I knew they would, but instead of a warm welcome they stared at me curiously.

I furrowed my brows and asked, "What's going on grandma?" I finally built up the courage to look her in the eye.

Her eyes were more angry than curious now. I reached out hesitantly, "Grandma?" When I barely grazed her shoulder she jerked away like my hand was diseased. Then it turned into that look. That look. The one I endured all my life. Like I was the most disgusting thing that ever existed.

She finally opened her mouth letting out what sounded like, in my horrified state, a thunderous boom, "Why don't you go mutilate your body some more?"

"Grandma what're you…" I looked down, a sign that I hadn't felt before was wrapped around my neck like a noose. My mouth went dry just like I imagined it would have gone if I had an actual noose around my neck.

Even though it was upside down I could read the inky black letters form two haunting words: "Anorexia Nervosa"

I thought my most tormenting and harrowing thought ever. 'You were right Morty. Why? Why couldn't I just believe I was beautiful?'