Well here is a Ming Ming fic i have been working on for awhile, i think i re wrote this about a half a dozen times becasue i was never satisfied with it and after ages of having it half written i finally finished it.

Dedication: Now this is dedicated to Lamanth because her fascination with Mimi has just drawn me to this girl, that and our convos are always crazy...Hehe Luv Ya girl.

Warning: I apologise now for any spelling or grammer errors.

Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade i only own my socks and thats about it...No wait i dont even own those.

The slow rythmic beeping filled the small room. The only occupent a small girl lying motionless in the white bed. Her chest rose and fell slowly with her breathing. An IV drip was taped in her hand and a heart rate monitor was on her middle finger.

The room was barren and empty save for the girl in the bed and other various machines. A nurse walked into the room her feet padding softly on the linolum floor.

She walked over to the bed and picked up the chart situated at the foot of the bed. Flipping it open she took out a pen from her breatspocket. Glancing from the chart to the machines she recorded the young girls vitals before closing the chart. Quietly she replaced it and exited the room.

Not once did the girl in the bed stir. Looking about the room one would feel saddened. Not a single get well conrd could be soon. Nor were there any flowers or gifts. Just the girl. Trapped in her own body. Emprisoned. Stuck.

One glance at the girl could tell you all you needed to know. Her body thin and fragilesomeone who was starving herself to perfection. Her collerbones jutted out dangerously, face sunken and shallow, wrists like fragile glass.

One was almost too afraid to touch her, for fear of breaking what once was called an angel, she had had the looks of one and the voice to match. Her eyes one could get lost in them forever.

You put pressure on a young girl and one starts to see something different in the mirror everyday, something she doesn't like.

The certain "mould" that every girl has to fit in gets smaller and smaller every year, they end up taking drastic measures to fit into what society calls the perfect image.

How can it be the perfect image when it makes girls like the one lying in this bed kill themselves just to look like one of the models in the magazines?

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor started to slow down the beeps become irregular. Her breathing became shallow and laboured.

Each breath this fragile girl took pained her, her lungs ached with the effort, her heart pumped twice as hard trying to release the blood that should be flowing around her body.

Her once angelic face was now contorted with pain.

Was this the price you payed for perfection? Suffering and misery? Her life should be filled with smiles laughter and fun.

The high shrill of the monitor filled the empty room and echoed out into the halls. The sound of running feet could be hurd as doctors and nurses rushed into the room with a crash cart, desperately trying to save this fragile angel.

She was measured up by how she looked and how unlike the perfect "mould" she was with her bright round angelic face, full breasts and wide hips.

Here in this uncaring and unfriendly room it was that she took her last breath forever...

Ok well that was it, it was quite sad and i'm still not sure if im happy with it but ohwell i cant change anything else its driving me insane
Well tell me what you thought of this it will be greatly appreciated

Luv Phoenix