Monday

It was something she saw out of the corner of her eye, something that didn't quite make sense.
Her reflection. Not that it was bad in any way. She was a regular girl, with curves in all the right places and a swing of the hip that would make most men stop half in their tracks. She wasn't in any unordinary way self-conscious, but something about her reflection seemed empty, lacking something vital.
As she wondered about this, she noticed that the sliding doors refused to open for her as she approached, sensors no longer sensed her. Her reflection threatened her with hollow eyes, and she feared that somewhere, the weekend had stolen her soul.
That was the day she stopped eating. It wasn't as if she didn't want to, she wanted to everytime she passed some exotic food store, everytime she watched a cooking show. She wanted to everytime she'd see pictures of food, see someone walking by with something. She just couldn't, and she hated it. She'd try, but the nausea would rise so high that she could barely swallow.

It surpised and concerned her how long a person can go without sustenance. She began to notice that it was talking her longer to climb stairs, that laughing would tire her, that the glances she recieved from strangers had altered. Where once there was a quiet amazement at her coy stride, there was now a look of pity mingled with disgust. Eyes would skim over the bones so obnoxiously prominent. She felt each thought as one feels a blow to the stomach, with a winded bewilderment.

That was the day, with all breath knocked out of her lungs, that she realised the world she knew might not be as real as she thought it was.