I am no one.
Perhaps there was a time when I had pride and dignity, but they were only illusions that were soon snatched away by reality. Reality had beaten me down until my dreams were as blank as the ceiling I now stare upon. The only clean surface in the room, a startling white, shining through the darkness of the room.
I have no control over my body. It is claimed by many every night and when they leave so does part of me. Dreams, pride, dignity; they've all been claimed.
I am nothing but a shell.
A shell that hold goods for others. Goods they greedily take without caring for the wrapping, the shell. I am disposable. When they can no longer get from me, I am done. Gone. Eliminated.
Tonight he is gentle, though his breath reeks. I lay in utter darkness as he climbs on top me. His breath suffocating me. As always my breath quickens and a fresh wave of panic washes over me.
He lasts long, this one. He goes on for over an hour before he falls on me, hot drool coating my stomach. I am sick. He thanks me and leaves. Footsteps echo across the room as soon as he leaves and a sharp pain erupts in my cheek.
Someone has slapped me, his wife, perhaps not, I honestly didn't care.
"How dare you?!" Her words bruise my ears, "you are despicable." Her voice lowers an octave "You tempt my husband, he wanted you. He KNEW you!"
Then like always, against my better judgement I answer 'I do not know him'
But you had him, are you pleased? she asked, a hint of superiority ringing in her voice, "he will always be mine, and you will always be a filthy whore."
With those final words the door slams shut leaving me to wallow in my self pity
The tears come, even though I've sworn that I have no more. She knows I have no choice, knows he paid to use me; without my consent. But she blames me.
They always do, they always do.
I am from Meatriarch. Where I grew up in the south side, things were rough. As a female child, I was my mother's disappointment. A girl born in Meatriarch is a terrible curse. Essentially worthless, she is not allowed to hold places in important offices nor work. We are meant to be wives and breeders. Those of us who are unfortunate to be unwed becomes prostitutes, some by choice but many by of force. I was the latter. It is no secret or shame that every mother dreams to bare a boy, it is the most logical thing.
My mother's heart broke when I was born; she killed herself the same night. I turned up all right though, the nuns protected me. Growing up was difficult. One had to be extremely vigilant and attentive as there were and are many who pursue women to exploit. Many men make women fall in love with them so they later trade them into prostitution while some women befriend other girls simply to achieve the same. It provides them wealth and privilege. Man loves power, always had and always will.
Brothels are everywhere to appease the lust and passions of those with wealth and prestige. We prostitutes are used to satisfy their darkest fantasies. The things I had to do truly disgusted me. They've forced me to loathe myself, and the lord knows I do.
In the midst of my suffering and anguish, there is but one small consolation; I am unable to any see any of the customers. There is a shield we cover our eyes with when we sleep with the high rankings. The shield is transparent and is placed on the eye. The eye looks normal except that the person who has the shield on cannot see. During my entire time at the brothel, I have kept the shield over my eyes. That's the only I've ever requested for.
I feel, I hear, but I never see. For if I can't see, I can convince myself that it's not real.
And that's how I've made it so far. I am nobody.
Whatever happens is not real.
I am no one.