It’s that time again for my body to become one with the bed. Everybody needs rest. But rest from what when it’s your soul that’s tired. When your list is longer than the runway. The run-away train describes how fast life is going past my eyes. The big clock against the wall strikes loudly as it ticks off the seconds, minutes, hours, days. Still I have nothing. Life is so unfair. But who said it would be easy. Where is the manual to it, a script or something to show where I was going?

Everyone has their own story to tell and behind every happy face is a scared soul crying. My fingers type “I’m okay”, my lips speak “I’m fine”, but my body says clearly “I am tired” and my heart says “I am broken”, but nobody notices my inner thoughts.

Behind my savage attitude is a soft-hearted crying girl that nobody will ever understand.
Daily I wake up to do the basics but when that is done my anxiety becomes whole again with my soul. I am still where my feet first landed. The same story. The same view. The same problems.

My father once told me to become independent, my mother told me to belong to a man.
All those thoughts collapsed the day they died. They left me at a young age so my idea of becoming highly qualified died with them. Now I am here, a slave to mankind.

From shelter to shelter, to finally letting go of most my life, that is what I wanted but with little knowledge of what the world had in store, I now regret it. I need to starve or survive on my own. I never had that Mommy and Daddy type of money. I had that “If I don’t hustle, I won’t have any money.”

Survival. Only word I lived by; studied it and implemented it in every way possible.

When the taxi stops in front of the big gates, I forgot who I was, where I came from and only focused on where I was going.

Up before sunrise and work all day. If I am lucky, I get to feel the sun on my skin and smell the fresh air outside.

I met a younger girl with a sad expression but smiles when the rich walks in. Serving them with a wide grin and becomes miserable when walking away.

“How did you end up here?” I once asked.

“I was put in front of the rich crowd. The big man made a five shillings bet. She took it, such a cheapskate — my mother. Here I am, away from freedom,” she said sadly.

Shivers went down my spine. But we carry on with the slavery, that’s all we know.
She said we will be fine until the day the young becomes old and is replaced with the even younger models. We offer our all for so little. Rest we don’t get. At night the mister comes and “shows us appreciation” as he calls it. We are his sex slaves.

We get instructed to not tell the Mrs or we will end up like the others. We never knew what that meant but the saying made us scared. We were treated like animals; no even they were treated better.

I have a story to tell but they didn’t listen.

The mister drove me late at night to an open field and left me there with four words, “Stay away or die.”

Why you ask? He was stupid enough to use me for sex without protecting himself. Because I don’t matter. I was left in the dark with no knowledge of where I was or where to go. I started walking and ended up in a dump again.

Five months later and my belly started to show. My product of rape is growing inside of me.
With the little we have, I felt the sun for one last time. The cold breeze from the winter season making its announcement. I looked up and smiled one more time. A tear sliding from my eyes as I closed it for one last time.

Nobody noticed me when I was alive, someone will notice me now that I am dead.

It’s a hard knock life.


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