beautiful, very. not only by the typical standards, but she wud be regarded the same in any other language of any other culture in any other part of the world. here, she lived in the upper portion of a huge house. she was, wat we call today: dirt, baggage and a social plague. a woman, yet not elevated to tht standard. a would be mother, had tht right not being denied by those who owned her. a sister to no brother and a wife... not that either. a working girl, round the clock.
"u aint going to ever miss me"
"u wont evn remember me"
and the 'girls' never agreed. she was, as quiet as a whisper and equally beautiful. serene. calm... like love... small butterflies, tears and smiles at the same time. she was all tht. rain in sun. like ppl cry wen they're happy. funny. funerals, wen ppl remember all the good things of the 'dear departed'. satire. all tht, yes... all of tht. she really was...
unlike every other notion, she didnt fall for a client. never had those illusions. too wise for her age. another tragedy. she jus made money and spent none. didnt need to. all her needs were taken care of. beyond the four walls, she had seen none. all she heard was obscene: nothing great to be picked up and used at others. so she had shut her ears, a very long time ago. wen voices became too loud to bear, wen languages stopped mattering, wen there really was no pt in it all.
but it wasnt tragic till then. she laughed. the genuine laughter anybdy in the world can manage. things were beautiful for her, wen not behind the curtains. music, art. no love. no books. rules had to be followed. she never thot she wanted to be born in another time, at another place. there, really was, nothing wrong in wat she did. she was a working girl. nothing bad in tht. she lives comfortably. lavishly by some standards. she cud see the flowers, smell the perfume, watch the birds fly. watch only. they flew. left her alone. beyond a certain distance, they were invisible. not even dots.
she couldnt write: one reason why she was soo popular. she cudnt detail every person who came to her. diaries can be real dangerous in these days. best to be avoided.
sometimes her thots flew to far off land. like beyond the closed street... wondering wat lay ahead. but dats as far they went. she wasnt the intellectual type. thank God.
the first time she coughed, she spewed blood. it came out like a volcanic eruption, went on like one too. fifteen minutes after tht, she was back to work. but the valve had broken and there really was no stopping. everybdy in tht "household" knew. the rest of the world didnt.
"its jus a throat infection. will be ok in a few days... best not to tell the 'guests'. why worry them? bad for business..."
and so, the throat infection neva got cured. occassionally wen she coughed infront of her 'work', it went unnoticable. to some, it became a major turn on. business bomed. money flowed. went in that wooden box. no pt in spending it. shud be saved for a rainy day. that rainy day came after half a year went by. on a normal morning, on a very normal day, she didnt wake up. for her funeral, tht hard- earned money was searched for.
somebdy had stolen tht in the middle of the nite.
"u aint going to ever miss me"
"u wont evn remember me"
turns out, she was right.
she was thrown in the nearby "nala".
sluts dont really need a proper burial anyway.
