Gwen was a pretty 17-year-old girl. She was tall, with long brown hair and she was Hollywood skinny. She was sitting in her first class of the day, her legs bouncing wildly beneath her desk. She looked up at the clock again for about the 15th time in the past few minutes. It was still two minutes until the bell was going to ring. She looked at her desk as a tear rolled down her cheek. She had failed the test she had just taken and it was not ok to fail. She was not permitted to fail. Finally the bell rang and she shot out of her seat. She ran to the bathroom and locked herself in the very last stall. She doubled over, forcing her bony finger down her throat. Nothing but a dry heave. The tears started flowing out of her eyes like faucets. She had nothing in her stomach to purge, she hadn't eaten in days. She plopped down on the toilet seat and fished around in her bag. She pulled out her old friend and pushed up the long sleeve of her shirt. Her ragged, scar ravaged skin was exposed. She pushed the cold metal into her warm skin and slowly released a bit of her pain in the form of a crimson line. She sighed, a smile crawling across her face. She threw the razor back in her bag, zipped it up and floated to class. Later, when she strips off her shirt to take a shower and she sees her bony body covered in scars in the mirror, she will feel guilty, and hit her head on the wall for being so stupid, but for now, she is happy. She is human.