The nurse is actually just the school's receptionist who happens to know first aid, two for one I guess. "How are you feeling? Think you can continue with classes?" She gives me an ice pack to hold to my head.

Her question is an escape, and I'd be a fool not to take it, "I don't think so miss." I rub my chest (I can feel the pain to my bones) and soaked my voice in sickness and torment.

After Anise and Joe wish me well, I make my way to the bus stop in relief.

The ride home was an invitation for my mind to wonder and eventually devour itself in excessive thinking which became self deprivation, If I was skinnier I'd be happier.

Normally Joe and I would sit together at the back, I'd peer through the window, assessing the many faces and bodies walking on the street, while Joe goes off on whatever conversation she fancied.

I don't want to keep living like this. I went to the gym once, begged my dad to pay for a years long subscription - it was hell. I stood out like a fat pimple. I didn't need to be a mind reader to know what everyone there thought, as sweat drenched my clothes and as I started panting, desperate for oxygen within a few seconds. The slapping of my thighs and jiggling fat pulled people's attention to me. I never went back after those fifteen minutes.

Until I can get surgery, my only cures are dieting and weight loss pills, none of which have been working.

To occupy the remainder of my journey, I continue my search for pills, scrolling away from the company's which were ineffective, and deeper into the tunnel of the search engine. I hear the deeper you go the darker it gets, but I haven't found anything beyond normal.

When I finally click a link to explore their offers, chrome shuts down, returning me to my home screen, 'ugh, I hate this phone.' Controlled by my depleting, short, patience, I spam the app's logo.

Rather than 'Lindsey Makerling's be skinny pills', a website with a background darker than a raven's feathers takes it's place. A yellow smiley face holding X's for eyes floating in the middle ominously. The title reads 'Happiness Delivery Service' in yellow - what a fake.

Suddenly my torso is jolted forwards by the force of the bus stopping, before it could hit a cyclist in front. I notice the bus has gotten stuffed with people, doesn't appear that the influx will end.

With no product listing, and only two options in the menu bar, I proceed to the 'Make a purchase' section, doubtfully.

Obviously minimum effort has been put into this business, non existent items, only data for users to input: full name, address, what's your wish. I'm left with the assumption that whatever they're offering is free given that money hasn't been mentioned.

I close my phone and look up, a woman eyes the seat opposite me, however; it's blocked by two pairs of legs, one being mine. I peer down discretely and find a child tucked between her legs, protected from the often violent swaying of the bus.

The fat in my legs and thighs spreads across my seat like butter on bread, nearly covering the seat next to me. I want to get up for the woman, but I know how it would end.

I hate this

My phone buzzes, then lights up to reveal a message from mum, I swipe my fingers from dot to dot, once the password is confirmed that yellow smiling face stares at me from my screen.

After a second of thinking, I decide to fill in the form just for fun. My wish: to loose weight. Enter A date: I don't know what kind of date they're looking for, I jot in something random.

My expectation upon hitting submit was something breath-taking would pop up, or the page would redirect, disappointingly; this was betrayed by a simple delivery notice.

I arrive home, twist the keys, and when I push the door, a force keeps it from making impact with the wall. I investigate, finding a pillow sized cardboard cube labelled with a delivery address.

The parcel is too thick and wide to squeeze through the letter hole, also; the only presence in the house is my sister's gross lizard. How did the parcel get in? The question is replaced by anticipation, I tear the box from the top to the corners and discover a plastic container as tiny as my thumb with a high pitched rattle reaching my ears.

A circular tablet no bigger than a tooth with a smiley face ingrained on it, sits in the container.

Mistrust is a shield. The timing of the delivery doesn't sit well on my chest, like gravel pavement with missing gaps; but I go ahead and walk across, taking cautious licks before chewing the full pill. My mouth becomes a waterfall desiring more of that sweet cherry taste - I expected paracetamol bitterness.

I stare at my round figure through the mirror. I look like a walrus.

The website is a hoax, a game of twister with people's hopes and desires, where in the end you feel like fool. I admit the subject of wish granting crept into my head and laid a few eggs of hope, but I prevented that false hope from hatching, then why do I feel disappointed?

Nothing happened. I try to find the website, searching through my history but all that appears is '404 page not found'. Compelled by my anguish, I throw my phone at my mirror.

I turn to my safe heaven, where all my wishes actually come true - dreams, the closest world to my ideal reality.

When I awake its already morning, cant believe I slept this long. There are still a few hours till school. I locate my phone which was likely put on my desk by my mum, the cracks on the screen like rain traveling on glass, a journey that will eventually end with no result. I stare at the split lines in frustration as I attempt to turn my phone on, it's consciousness fading every so often, why did I throw it.

I feel like an elegant feather drifting through the wind, a graceful ballerina capable of completing any activity without being weighed down by grotesque flesh and fat. I turn to the mirror, I really am a ballerina.

The fat is gone.