At this point, I took a good look at her. She was a re-creation of a gray object disguised as a refl ection of a spirit. Despite wearing her favorite outfi t, the shape of her body was hardly recognizable. The old zebra sweater she had made herself was once too loose but now too small to fi t her layered and bagged belly. Her neck was never that shy, half hiding under her unbelievably double chin and half from the broad collar of her new jacket. The puffi ness all over her skin made her look as unreal as an aired clown dancing in the wind outside MacDonalds. Also, her eyes looked much smaller than I remembered, with double-fold eyelids disappearing into a single piece of fl esh sticking out. Each time she breathed, she had to use more strength to breathe again, as a tug of war with an unbeatable dark force. As she breathed in and out, heavily and loudly, the visual line of her lungs gasping for air and her heart fi ghting to beat, indeed, was the trace of an ax being madly and repeatedly lifted.