Word Count: 310
She hated her nose, too round, the bridge bumpy, and wanted one like her friend Caroline’s, straight and noble. He, loving her, killed Caroline, cut off her nose, brought it home and removing her’s, carefully stitched Caroline’s in its place.
She loved it, was happy, at least for a while. But her breasts were too small, she complained. It took him several days and long nights of looking until he found the exact perfect pair.
She was delighted and he, we admit, was as well, and they lived content and peaceful for almost a year. Then she saw pouty lips on famous faces. Saw the full lips luscious with hot fuchsia lipstick in magazine ads and commercials and even pouting hers out to their puffiest only made her more resentful and sad. He could not bear to see her cry.
He gave her new lips for her birthday. For Christmas, she got a complete set of new nails. Over the years he replaced, rebuilt, reshaped her the way that she wanted. The most difficult one was the hair. Her’s thin and lank, impossible to build strand by strand, he brought her a scalp covered with thick and long redheaded hair.
As the years went by, he was busy replacing replaced parts as they aged, for she would get depressed and lament her lost youth. He loved her so much, he ran out to fulfill each whim, though whim was no longer the issue. Bones were slid out and new ones inserted. Her teeth came complete with a jaw. Skin grafts and muscles, joints and clear eyes, he was capable of taking care of them all.
But what they’d forgotten–or in her mind, had never been even considered–was that he was growing old too.
It made her unhappy. And he would do anything to make his sweet woman smile.
