The Suffering of a Prostitute

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
A prostitute is rescued from her sinful lifestyle.

Submitted: October 05, 2015

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Submitted: October 05, 2015

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The Suffering of a Prostitute

By Joseph Logsdon

Out of pure necessity, Mora had been forced to compromise her moral beliefs. Her body was the only thing she had to offer. The once virtuous woman, had become the very thing she despised. The world took an innocent female, corrupted her, transformed her into something twisted and evil.

Mora sat in her lonely, far from spectacular apartment. It was an unsafe environment, occupied by dust, vermin, and things far worse. The building was slowly decaying, not unlike her body. The same thing that kept her alive, was also the thing that prevented her from truly living. Back and forth, between life and death, the cycle continued.

There was a knock at the door. Mora paused, unusually doubtful of her current situation. The knock sounded strange and bewildering. Was she being paranoid? With the progression of time, the knocking got louder and more aggressive.

“You can let yourself in,” Mora finally stated.

The door suddenly opened. There he stood, the man she had been waiting for all her life. He was an older man, about twenty years her senior. He also appeared to be wealthy, tremendously and remarkably wealthy. His hair was styled and groomed, a far cry from what Mora had been accustomed to.  

“Pardon me, are you Mora Hudson?”

“Why, yes, of course. Are you the man who called me?”

“You seem surprised to see me. Would you prefer that we do this another time?”

“That won’t be necessary, I hope. Forgive me for staring; you seem so different. Most men, ninety percent of them, don’t look or act like you do. They’re animals, the vast majority of them,” she stated.

“Well, I’m no animal, I can assure you. For the record, I have no intention of sleeping with you,” he stated, shutting the door behind him.

“I don’t understand,” Mora replied, looking him straight in the eye.

“Assuming I’m as rich as you say, why would I waste my time on a prostitute, when I could easily get women for free? It just doesn’t make any sense, does it? Earlier today, I saw you in the street. There was, I believe, a sadness in your eyes. It touched me, motivated me to find you and convince you of something,” he stated.

“Convince me of what?”

“That you don’t belong here,” he answered.

“Who are you?”

“Alfred, Alfred Bridges. I’m rich, rich enough to take you away from all of this. Just say the word, and I’ll give you everything you want,” Alfred exclaimed.

Doubtful of his intentions, Mora paced the room. His eyes followed her, never once looking away. Mora could see that he wanted to have her for his own. She felt unprotected, just short of naked.

“What exactly, Mr. Bridges, do you do? Did you steal it, this money that you keep referring to? I will say, that for a man who doesn’t know how to treat a woman, you seem awfully well-dressed,” Mora laughed.

“Are you mocking me?”

“What do you take me for, some kind of idiot? You come in here, dressed all nice and spiffy, thinking that if you play your cards right, you might be able to have more than just my body. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Alfred grabbed her shoulder, gazed into her blue eyes. He stroked her hair, the utmost sincerity in his eyes. Captivated by his gaze, Mora didn’t say one word. The resistance that had been there previously, suddenly drifted away.

“I mean it, on the level. I’ll give you your freedom, and in return, you’ll marry me. I’ve been lonely for so many years, Mora. I’m a miserable man, loved by no one. Won’t you love me? I already know that you’ll decline my offer. For once in my troubled, confused life, I would like to be wrong about something. I’m asking you, let me be wrong,” Alfred cried, tears in his lonely eyes.

Mora gazed at the tragic man. In a moment of weakness, she kissed him, passionately and firmly. There was nothing sinful about the kiss. It was a pure kiss, destined to be remembered for years to come.

“Hey, what do you know, you’re wrong,” she chuckled.

The following month, they were married. Liberated by her new husband, Mora had become a completely different woman. In a relatively short period of time, the world went from a dark place, filled with death and sin, to a place filled with love and laughter. Mora had finally gotten the life she had always wanted.

The house was too large for two people. With ten bathrooms and over forty bedrooms, it felt like a waste of space. They had only been married one week, and already they were starting to fight. Mora sat on her bed, bored with her new lifestyle. Except for playing an occasional game of bridge, there really wasn’t anything to do. It was just the two of them, alone in that bleak house.

Alfred suddenly entered the room, madder than he had ever been before. He slapped Mora, merciless in his assault. Mora didn’t respond; she simply gazed back at him. Over the course of one week, their love had slowly deteriorated.

“Hit me again, why don’t you?”

“For the last time, our guests are waiting downstairs. Darling, come now, you wouldn’t want to disappoint everyone, would you?”

“Tell me, Alfred, who are we disappointing? We drink all day, party all night, without any concern for anyone but ourselves. I don’t know who is worse, me or you? Another night of this, I might just leave altogether,” she threatened.

“We already went over this; I’ll never let you go. It’s too late, I fear, for you to ever escape me,” Alfred stated.

“What have I done to deserve this? You keep me locked inside, like I’m some kind of prisoner. I can’t so much as breathe, without you knowing about it. Why are you doing this to me? Why?”

“Because since the moment I met you, I knew you were no good. It goes without saying, you’re nothing but a whore. Well, now you can die, exactly like the others,” Alfred shouted, leaving the room.

Mora didn’t understand his abrupt change in behavior. Worse still, she suddenly started to feel dizzy. Mora glared at the cup of coffee in her hand, immediately realizing what had happened. She grabbed the nightstand, scarcely preventing herself from falling. Drained of energy, her eyes started to close. She finally collapsed, succumbing to the power of sleep.

When Mora finally awoke, nothing looked the same. She was strapped to a table, most likely constructed out of wood. Barely awake, Mora almost failed to notice what was directly in front of her. There were twenty people in the room, all of them covered in black. They stared at her, thirsty for blood.

“Where am I? Who are you people?”

They didn’t respond. Directly below her feet, Mora started to feel something warm. From every direction, she was surrounded by fire. It trickled swiftly, steadily heading towards her delicate feet. Alfred, who was also covered in black, silently watched from afar. The betrayal by her husband, combined with the fire beneath the table, compelled Mora to scream.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to witness the death of a very sinful individual. She was a prostitute, the very lowest form of life. She must pay for her sins. She will perish, here and now,” Alfred chuckled.

“I swear, on the grave of my mother, I won’t sin again,” she screamed.

“Once a sinner, always a sinner,” Alfred chuckled.

The fire finally touched her feet. Practically at the end of her life, Mora couldn’t prevent herself from crying. The physical pain, in comparison with the emotional pain, amounted to very little. It was pain, not hatred, which ultimately ended her life. She continued to burn, at one with the flames.

The End

 

 

 

 


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