I am no one.
I have no control over my own body. It is claimed by many every night and when they leave so do part of me. My will, my dreams, my pride, my dignity, they’ve all been claimed.
I am a shell.
A shell that hold goods for others. Goods that they greedily take without caring about the wrapping, the shell. I am disposable. When they can no longer get anything from me, I am done. Gone. Eliminated.
Tonight he is gentle, though his breath reeks. I do not see him as he climbs on top me. His breath suffocates me.
He lasts long, this one. He go goes on for over an hour before he falls on me, drool coating me stomach. I am sick. He thanks me and leaves. I hear footsteps enter as soon as he leaves and a sharp pain erupts in my cheek.
Someone had slap me, probably his wife, probably not, but I honestly didn’t care.
“How dare you?” She screams, y”ou are despicable.”
She knows I have no choice. She knows he paid to used me; without my consent. But she blames me.
They always do, they always do.
I am from Meatriarch. I grow up in the south side where things were rough. I was my mother’s disappointment. Being a girl in Meatriarch was the worst thing. We are essentially worthless. We cannot hold places in important offices. We cannot work. We are meant to be wives and breeders. Those of us who are unfortunate to be unwed becomes prostitutes, some by choice but mostly out of force. I was the latter. Every mother dreams to have a boy, my mother did.
Her heart was broken when she had me; she killed herself the same night. I grow up alright though, I was protected by the nuns. Growing up as a woman was hard. There are men who looks to exploit women. They make women fall in love with them and then the sell them into prostitution. It gives them money and power. Men love power, they always had and always will.
Brothels are everywhere to satisfy the thirst of evil men and women. They use us to satisfy their darkest fantasies. The things that I had to do were truly disgusting. They make me hate myself, they do.
I have one small comfort; I cannot see them. There is a shield that we must cover our eyes with when we sleep with the high rankings. The shield is transparent and must be placed on the eye. The eye looks completely normal except that the person who has the shield on cannot see. Since I been in the brothel I have kept the shield over my eyes. That’s the only I’ve ever asked for.
I feel, I hear, but I never see. If I can’t see it I can convince myself that it’s not real.
And that’s how I’ve made it so far. I am nobody and whatever happens is not real.
I am no one