Neon Lights

Harsh glowing light from the neon sign across the street and illuminates my bed in a soft orange glow. I slip out of my clothes, tossing them into the shadows somewhere.

I slip under the flannel sheet and quilt. I lay my head down on the cotton covered pillow, the material bringing no relief to the throbbing in my head, the continuous glowing light only bringing pain to my currently sensitive eyes.

I listen to my own steady breathing and the continuous ticking of my clock.

The ticking becomes seemingly louder, the throbbing in my head seems amplified by the ticking and the neon glow.

I flip off the blankets and walk over to the window and grasp the curtains.

I loosen my grip on the thin material and instead open the window.

The cold night air is brought into the small room by a soft breeze.

The scent of an outdoor garden wafts into the room, surrounding me like a blanket. The sweet scent of flowers invades my senses and I wonder how a garden could survive in this area.

I sigh and walk back over to the bed, the sweet smell of flowers following me.

I sigh once more and lay back in bed, my head resting on the pillow. I turn my back away from the window, the orange glow no longer as intense and the enjoyable smell of flowers flows around me.

I close my eyes and once more listen to the continuous ticking of my clock, this time I am soothed by the monotonous sound.

I feel myself slip into the oblivion of sleep and allow my self to.
~
I awaken to the smell, not of the flowers I had dreamt about, but of thick cigarette smoke. The room is cold now, the window having been left open while I slept.

I look over towards my door and see the glowing end of a cigarette butt, the owner of which remains in the shadows.

I knew he would come, he always does.

He throws his cigarette onto my floor and steps onto it, extinguishing the butt.

I sigh as he walks towards my bed; the neon glow covers his face in harsh shadows.

I close my eyes as he slips beneath the covers, his body is warm against mine but it brings no comfort to me.

I open my eyes as he raises my hands above my head, the cold metal of handcuffs snap around my wrists, strapping them to the headboard.

I once more close my eyes and envision myself in a field of flowers.

My eyes snap open as he bites down harshly on one of my nipples.

I snap them closed once more, forcing myself mentally away from his unpleasant hands.

I gasp as he enters me violently, the pain of the dry entry causing me to cry out. I squeeze my eyes shut as he begins to move inside me, the feeling of my own blood trickles down my thighs and onto the once pristine sheets.

I allow my tears to fall as he continues to move within me, pain racking my body.

I allow tears but no sounds escape my mouth.

I once more close my eyes and try to ignore the man on top of me.

I cry out as he bites down onto my neck, my blood flowing in a slow trickle down my shoulder.

I shudder as I hear him groan as he reaches his climax.

I feel him slide out of me.

He kisses me gently, as if it makes up for all the pain.

I hear the wet snap of the condom as he peels it from himself. I feel the cold metal of the handcuffs being removed. I turn away from him, my back facing the door.

'I'll be back tomorrow, you know that, right' he whispers.

I nod, blinking away tears.

I hear the door click shut after him.

I pull my knees up to my chest, rocking as I finally allow sobs and tears to be released.

Courage to end this, end the pain, the suffering. Would this courage, this finality ever be hers?

~
I walk through life as a nameless face to the world, just another nameless soul passing the millions that crowd our world.

I am so insignificant that if I die no one will miss me. I am but a shadow in this frayed reality.

I pass a bridge; the smell of flowers haunts me, flowers mixed with the smell of tobacco.

I find myself staring over the edge of the bridge, the ground below calling, taunting, teasing. I am blinked back into reality as I am jostled by a passer by, someone who I don't know and probably never will. I continue making my way forward, no where really to go.

This reality is meaningless, yet I cannot cast aside my physical being. I am an entity among entities, as meaningless as an inanimate object that is passed aside by people everyday, no one taking notice.

It's cold today. The cold eats away at me, making me more aware of my existence, of my meaningless, futile existence.

I exist because I exist, nothing more, nothing less. If I had any courage I would end this existence. But I never have had courage.

Courage is something built up. I have tried to build up my courage to the point where I could throw myself from a building or perhaps cut into my skin far enough to allow my life to flow away. But I am always broken down; the courage I gain is spent in a flurry of tears and drinks.

Work does nothing to help me. I dance to give others pleasure, there hands all over my body, small bills thrown at me or put in what little clothing I wear on stage. Backstage is an entirely different matter. It's not only the customers' hands that touch me, for a much higher price than a dance they can do almost anything to me. I do what I am told, my mind going elsewhere as I am taken over and over by multiple people.

If I could end this, if I could die, what would happen?
~
He came again that night. I think if he ever didn't come I would believe him to be dead. He tells me that I am his favorite. He just loves the money I make for him.

Sunday. I refuse to work this day. He allows it, but only because I work double on Saturday, the busiest day.

I sit in a church all day, praying to God. I feel as though I am defiling God's church by just entering.

The priest treats me as anyone else in his congregation. I find no atonement in being here, but it is a calm place.

May the Body of Our Lord Jesus Christ keep your soul unto life everlasting. Amen.

My soul? Neither God nor Christ has a place within my soul, they abandoned me a long time ago.

Into a pure heart, O Lord, may we receive the heavenly food which has passed our lips; bestowed upon us in time, may it be the healing of our souls for eternity.

The wine tastes like acid, burning from the inside, I pollute this church.

May Thy Body, O Lord, which I have received, and Thy Blood which I have drunk cleave to mine inmost parts: and do Thou grant that no stain of sin remain in me, whom pure and holy mysteries have refreshed: Who livest and reignest world without end. Amen.

May Thy Body, which I have received, and Thy Blood, which I have drunk, give me strength, and courage, to rid myself of this sinful body and courage to face the evils I will be presented with in Hell.
~
The apartment is cold, silent. It's surrounded in its continual orange glow. It used to seem pretty, in a way.

But now it reminds me of a burning end of a cigarette from the darkness.

He comes, every night. Every night, he comes, it'll never change.

Monday's child is fair of face,

Rough warm skin presses against me.

Tuesday's child is full of grace,

Hard hands run along my body.

Wednesday's child is full of woe,

Teeth dig into my skin. Bruises will form.

Thursday's child has far to go,

He's hurried, fast paced. Bad day for him, worse night for me.

Friday's child is loving and giving,

He finishes and rolls off; my hands are still chained to the bed.

Saturday's child works hard for his living,

He lights another cigarette, ashes falling on the bed.

the child that is born on the Sabbath day,

The blood on my legs is getting cold.

is bonny and blithe, and good and gay

Why isn't he leaving?

Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

'I think once more.'

He moves back over me.

I was born on a Wednesday.
~
As winter comes the world grows bleaker. Any bit of greenery in the city dies, leaving it completely grey and cold. People hurry, huddled against the cold air.

Birds no longer sing in the mornings. Not that they were often heard among the traffic and people.

There's a school not far from my apartment. It's become my habit to go and watch the children sometimes. They seem happy, climbing over their metal and cement playground, laughing as they run about, breathe coming out as puffs of white. I wonder what it would be like, to be a child again, being totally ignorant of the world's evils.

The teachers always regard me warily when I come. It doesn't surprise me. The crime rate in the neighborhood is always on the rise. The school is surrounded by a chain link fence topped with barbed wire. And yet the children laugh and play in their cage. The children should play and laugh as much as they can. Life will destroy their happiness soon enough.

I think it would be better for the happiest children to die quickly without having to grow up and learn those evils. Happy children seem to grow up miserable. After all, I was a happy child.
~
Sunday seems to come so slowly and yet suddenly I seem to find myself in the church.

Thy Body; Thy Blood.

May no stain of sin remain in my body?

My body is not stained with sin, it is sin.

The faces of the people surrounding me are familiar. I see them every Sunday. I know they all have they’re own reasons for being at church. I wish my reason was that I feel close to God but in reality I feel even more distant from God here, as though where He supposedly is most is where he chooses to let his absence from my life be even more known.

The priest is always called Father Jerome, an old man with white hair. He seems to know the bible off by heart. He never reads directly from it but I looked up where he was referring to during a service once and he spoke word for word, despite that the bible upon his alter sat closed.

I wonder what made him devote his life to God. Obviously he felt that God was with him. If he did not how could he always face all these people? Tell them all what God wants and loves when? If god is not with someone how could that person know what God wants and loves? I have no idea what God wants and I only know what he doesn’t love, which is people like me. After all, if he loved me I would happy, wouldn’t I?
~
He came every night of the week. Every fucking night.

And yet when I woke up Thursday morning realizing I slept through the night I panicked. He hadn’t come.

I went to work as usual. It was a test perhaps, to see if I still remember that he was the boss of me, to see whether I would still do what I was supposed to do even if he didn’t come every night. And of course I would. I wasn’t brave enough to let him kill me.

The men that frequent my work are all the same to me. Mostly they are working men, probably with families at home, their suits still on from work, tie loosened or gone completely. Most are middle aged, balding and pot bellied. Most like to watch, tossing singles mostly. Some get so drunk they either stop with the money all together or start throwing whatever. After clearing the stage and removing the bills from my clothing, if it could even be called clothing, I have found many odd things. I have found things like a dry cleaning claims ticket, grocery receipts, ordinary, everyday life things that remind me that, unlike me, once these people leave the building they go to a normal life. Once in a while I find something like a hundred dollar bill. My theory is someone gets so drunk they see the one and think it’s a single. I’ve had it happen before, when I used to work at the bar instead of the stage, and way before I worked the back room. It doesn’t happen often, but the occasional hundred dollar tip isn’t bad.

He, of course, started it all. Sixteen and stupid enough to think I could live on my own. I still had childish illusions. The money I thought would last me forever was spent on a bus ticket to the city alone. I spent that first night in an ally way. The second night I was prepared to do the same thing. He came. He seemed like an angel then, now he’s nothing more than a devil in the night. He said he’d ‘ignore’ my age. Let me work for him. I started off working in the back. Not the back room, which is entirely different. He got me an apartment, not far from the club. He paid the bills. I helped anywhere help was needed. Within a very short time I became the master of sewing and altering outfits, I could do make-up in a ridiculous amount of styles. I became a good listener; most of the girls like to talk before going onstage. Or after being in the back room.

I was quiet and I ignored the immorality of what I had to. The girls who worked in the club were almost all strippers and prostitutes. I promised I would never do that.

I began to learn how to bartend. By the time I was eighteen I was as good as any bartender working in the place. And because I was finally old enough, he let me work out front. Not stripping, I still had ideals and morals telling me that it would be wrong. I worked at the bar, the money was still the same as when I worked in the back, out of the public eye, but now it was legal for me to be working and I got some tips from the customers.

It was three week after I started working at the bar was when he first came. I remember waking up in the middle of the night to find him sitting there, staring at me, cigarette lit.

I freaked a little but I couldn’t do anything. He was stronger than me and with my hands chained to the bed I just laid there. It was horrible. He stole my virginity and all innocence I had left.

“I’ll come back every night, whenever I want. I own you, don’t forget.”

I didn’t go to work the next day. He came back that night and it was pure hell. It wasn’t just rape, it was torture. He hit me; his teeth left marks for days, the knife left scars. He told me if I ever missed work again he’d kill me.

I never missed work again.

Four days after his first assault, three days after he threatened to kill me, he told me I would be on stage.

And I went. My clothes came off, people stared, touched me.

I hated myself, I hated him, but mostly I hated myself.

It was almost a year and a half later that he told me that someone wanted me in the back room.

“Paid a lot for you too, so you’d better not mess it up. Remember, I own you.”

And I went. I went back there again and again. I wasn’t the most popular one there by no means but requests came all too often in my mind.

By the time I was nineteen I wasn’t working the bar anymore. He didn’t see the point when he could get a lot more money with me on stage and in the back.
~
Thursday night came and went. I didn’t sleep that night. I stayed up, listening to the street noise and starring out my window, sometimes looking around the room, the orange neon sign had been broken a few days ago and the owner of the place never bothered to get it fixed. It looked different without everything being orange.

The sun began to rise and yet my door had never opened. He hadn’t come and suddenly I felt as though he would never come again.

I went to sleep, dared to miss work. When I woke up Friday afternoon without him or one of his goons there to kill me or force me to work I began to laugh.

I hadn’t laughed since I was home. I laughed. My sides hurt and my eyes watered. I began to sob.

It was Friday and I had no where to go.
~
Saturday evening news. I hadn’t watched TV, never mind the news, in such a long time. The TV sat in my apartment for the longest time, doing nothing much more than collecting dust. It was an old black and white TV, with two bunny ear antenna and everything.

A body has been found in the city’s notorious red light district early this morning. Police at this time are not releasing any names so far. The person who found the body described him as being about 6”2’ Caucasian male in his early fifties or late forties. Heis suspected to have died from a single bullet wound to the head…

I didn’t need to hear the name. It was him. I knew it as soon as I heard it.

I screamed and screamed. I threw something at the TV, I don’t know what but the screen burst and sparks flew out like cheap fireworks.

I don’t know how long I sat there afterwards. I cleaned up the glass. One piece cut me. When I saw the blood I laughed. I couldn’t stop. As the blood ran down my hand and dripped onto the floor, and I laughed. The neon light across the street flicked to life, casting its light upon everything. I always did think it was beautiful…
~
Forgive me Father for I have sinned.

The words were strange. I had never been to confession before.

I have sold my soul to the devil and now the devil is dead. My body is tainted.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned. My body is sin, my mind; my thoughts are only of sin.

My blood is sin. Pure sin.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned. My blood is sin; let my sin flow from my body…
~
A twenty year old woman, as of yet unidentified, committed suicide Sunday morning in the Our Lady Roman Catholic Church after going to confession. When asked what the woman had confessed to the Father of Our Lady, Father Jerome Stevler stated that ‘…whatever was said is between her and God now.’ refusing to further comment to reporters. In later news…