On My Own

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

From the eyes of a prostitute.

[AN]: Hi! This is just something I wrote about how the prostitute might feel before going for her 'job'. This just came into my mind, so I hope you like this. I would love some feedback. Thank you. - Farah x

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Who was I, really? 

 

That was the only thought in my mind as I stared into my reflection in the mirror. 

 

I was barely recognizable, even to my own self. It felt like there was another person staring into my soul.

 

My mind felt numb. Nothing was making sense. Why couldn't I feel anything? I laughed a little, but I didn't know why I was doing that in the first place. Everything felt surreal.

 

In the quietness of my room, I was trying to stay calm. I cherished and hated this quietness at the same time, which was why I often remained confused about who I really was.

 

I didn't know who I was, so how could anyone else? Strangely, this thought always gave me some sort of comfort, which nothing else could ever give. But it was okay. This feeling didn't need to make sense.

 

As if I was on autopilot, I started helping myself to makeup so that I could transform myself into something I was not; beautiful. Because that was my job. I had to be beautiful, no matter how I felt.

 

After I was done, I stood up from the chair I was previously sitting on, and walked across the room to open the door which was hiding me from the rest of the world.

 

A huge smile automatically reached my face. This was what I was good at. Pretending. I could do it all day, everyday.

 

I opened the door and hundreds of eyes looked at me.

 

With that same fake smile, I looked at all those nameless people. It was time to work. It was time to be used.

 

But it was okay. After all, I was used to being on my own. After all, I was used to being a prostitute.


Submitted: April 24, 2020

© Copyright 2021 imafairy. All rights reserved.

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