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He was laying on his bed.

Too weak to move.

He hadn't eaten in a month.

And he was happy.

He felt his body start to eat itself.

And he was happy.

Even though you couldn't tell.

Even though he was too weak to smile.

He was happy.

Happy that his body was eating itself.

He felt his body start to shut down.

He felt his eyes close.

He felt his body go limp.

He was happy.

Happy that he could finally be thin.

Harry was dead.

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