The Paris ite Fashion Show

Patricia moved slowly towards the stage to collect her award. She was a vision of beauty. Her face taught with cheekbones almost poking through her skin, her surface a blinding shade of yellow and her arms were the latest in hive adornment as she appeared to have Toblerones attached to her arms that you could tell had been painstakingly nurtured to ensure that her valued visitors broke the skin in a linear pattern and having incredible similarities to the pyramids where she first contracted these furrowers of fashion.

Her back hunched with such beauty that only years of debilitating walking could achieve and this was solely down to her constant submission to her abdominal cramps and the willpower to be hunched over for hours at a time rather than take some kind of medication. She was a vision of wonder and a role model to everyone in the room.

Her bulbous stomach on the point of bursting and natures own stitch-marks almost a silhouette of her intestines were visible through the thin puss coated bandage corset.

After being wheeled on stage she clears her throat into a sample pot, cleverly supplied by the latest supporters of fashion 'The Well Travelled Clinique' as part of their 'Host more than a fashion show' campaign. The spotlight hits her, as it shines up her face like an amber traffic light a pustule above her left eye splits open to release a veil of gossamer over her left shoulder, small spider-like creatures scurry out and each grab a strand of hair. They run to the back of her head and burrow into holes giving her an instant face-lift. This is a well rehearsed routine and one that only Patricia herself could only pull off. A gasp of awe comes from the crowd, "She's a fucking genius" rings in her ears as the stench of brine and bile surrounds her like a forcefield.

Patricia started all this. She was the first one who travelled the world picking these hosts with such delicacy and helping them grow inside her. They were the must have accessories. Within 6 months many copied. Matthew Williamson was acrimoniously rejected from London Fashion Week with a horrible piggyback campaign for children with mere worms. This fashion was instantly the supermarket hit. Cheap, easily transferrable and needed no strict regime to help them grow. Parents encouraging their children to bite their friends fingernails after they'd been to the toilet smacked of lower class scummery. The very idea was scoffed by the Fashion World and Williamson was pigeon-holed as a Wallmart Warrior. Worms were common, they had no place at this parade.

She was a Queen in front of her peers, as she lurched forwards she vomited her words out. "I have achieved much in my time. This is no time in Fashion for the weak and the timid, you must control your fashion and not the other way around". Eyes turned to Bernard Amos in the corner, sitting in his chair with his half paralysed body desperately trying to pull the oxygen mask over his face. Bernard was a 21 year old student who had too much too young. On a travelling adventure with the abhorrent Max Gogarty he collected fine samples from Indonesia, Western Africa and the border of Mongolia. Many had not seen this style before, it appeared to visually cripple the outside whilst keep the inside completely intact. Many thrived for these rarities, however he was eager to impress. With only 8 weeks until the next big show, Bernard used organic foods and injected cortisone into his kidneys and bladder to help the progress of his proteges. He was too hasty and soon his accessories became the accessoriser.

This was a time where beauty was not only skin deep, it was deeper. To be alone was to be nobody, doctors would judge you on your eosinophil count and Patricia was a God.