Countless
days passed. And she was still ill, more due to her fate than her
ailment. The scars on her body revealed just how much she had tried
to free herself each time a demon overtook her body. Yes, her very
own body. It was not she who chose to get into such filth, but
destiny had something too dreadful planned for her. Having slept with
so many people, young and old she had forgotten what a father, a
brother or a lover meant. There was a time when she had them all. But
that was certainly not her piece of happiness. She never chose to be
a prostitute, not even being called by that name. They were the
circumstances that forced her into it. Time never does her any good.
And at this point of time, she has no soul left, no mind to decide
right or wrong, not even a voice to raise. She has become senseless.
Having no senses left, she was now just a show piece, torn and ugly
waiting to be just thrown into trash. Though she was a prostitute,
but she never does that on wish. Though she lied on that bed every
time someone wanted to enslave her, that doesn’t mean she was not
being raped. Every time she did that, she gave away one part of her
that defined her. A part so torn away that it couldn’t even be
repaired. She was a human just as others and she deserved love and
respect just as others did. More than wanting something, she needed
it. She needed love that could heal her, heal her to the soul. Bodily
wound had already stopped affecting her. She had lost sense of
worldly pleasures of relationships and luxuries. She herself felt she
was no more a human. At least she had never been treated like one. If
being a woman was her fault, it was better that she didn’t have
this life, a life worth nothing. Where she had nothing, no freedom,
no emotions no self, nothing. She was a ‘no one’ at this point of
time. Not even a particle that mattered to anyone other than people
who craved for a body for their pleasures. And what was her mistake?
Was it that she was a woman or that she was a woman with miseries?
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