One by one, people were ripped from their homes in the city. Fingernail scratches dotted the tops of doorways, second-story windows were shattered, evidence of women, children and men clutching in vain for dear life. Curiously, despite the shower of glass, wood and blood in each foyer, every bed was made perfectly.
Everyone was brought to a clearing, hovering up above the treeline, suspended in mid-air. Struggling only caused them to spin slowly in place, as if they were impaled by some invisible bar through the abdomen. After the screaming subsided, the chosen ones' thoughts turned to each other. Inexplicably, the fear they felt as a group started to give way to...jealousy.
Something snaked in and around their brains, curdling their thoughts into hate. It started with the personal trainer, who noticed a dozen pairs of hollow eyes leering at her with rage. They wanted her body. They wanted it to be taken from her and given to them.
No one could move to attack her, but as if sensing their thoughts, an invisible force began to drain the life away from her. A straw sucking from the inside, vacuum-sealing her flesh to her ribs, eyes rolling back into her skull, hair dissolving into clumps. She broke in half at the waist before she was even finished, and her bony feet touched the back of her shriveled head as she hung there, lifeless, spinning in the void above the clearing with the rest of the mob.
Smiles stretched across their faces. They could feel it. They could feel the burning inside, the fruits of their mental, hateful labor blossoming within. It felt so good to watch the subcutaneous fat shudder away, shrinking and sucking and withering, revealing taut muscles and slim waists. A peal of laughter caught fire with the group, as their bodies took the shape of dreams - as if the person they wished they were when they looked in the mirror had stepped out of the glass to replace them, mind body and soul.
Slowly they were lowered back to Earth, bare feet feeling the blades of grass. Their legs flexed as they wriggled their toes in the dirt, each one a perfect, and perfectly absent, specimen. They looked up. The trainer, or what was left of her, was still hovering in the sky, a husk dripping the ash of dead flesh like snowflakes. It fell softly around them, but didn't stain their clothes or skin. It slid right off. Nothing could penetrate them now. The master would see to that. Now all they had to do was march.
The cleansing began.