Society's Incorrect

Groups of zombified people march along the streets, eyes forward, locked on the target, faces expressionless like soldiers.
Average people with perfect builds, bodies neither too fat nor too thin, clothes clean and within the restricted guidelines; nothing to arouse attention, ironed black tuxedo suits for the men while the women are left with knee length formal skirts, black pumps and vest tops of the same colour; dark brown.
No makeup is allowed within the group permitting that it is unrecognisable, hair must be shaved to prevent it being classed as a girls' hairstyle.
Girlsâ hair must be tied up to match the boys' length, only natural colours allowed.
The crowd marches along, the sound on synchronized footsteps hypnotic to any outsiders who hear it. Suddenly the soldiers stop as a little girl approaches them.
Her footsteps light and unheard, her build is thin and it shows to everyone that she is weak, her clothes are ruffled, untucked and carrying various stains, the light pink of her dress clashes with her yellow top and mixed coloured socks. Her greasy blonde hair flows and falls to her knees. The girl looks no older than five; outside the age limit.
A woman of about twenty five steps out of the group "What is this?"â her angry voice resembling that off a drill sergeant.
The girls eyes grow wide "Please help me, I have lost my mumm-"
â"You do not match the requirements" The woman's tone drifts up "You are out of sync" her voice repelled by the sight of the little girl.
â"She needs to be eliminated" echoes a similar voice from within the crowd, everyone now starts chanting "Out of sync, out of sync"
The little girl is picked up by the scruff of her neck by the surprisingly strong woman as the crowd falls back in sync and starts marching, the chant still being hummed as the little girl hangs from her clothing.
The little girl is tied to a pole while everyone in the group throw insults and negative comments at her, the little girl is publically shamed for being different, and she gets abused as people throw things at her and drive comments into her as if they were knives.

The next time I saw the little girl, she was marching along with the crowd, and she had become one of them! The next time I saw the little girl, she was marching along with the crowd, she had become one of them!