The Cost of Dreaming

The door closed behind her with a definite thud, and she heard the man's footsteps as he climbed the stairs to the street. The breeze entered the room from the open window and stirred the meager bills he left behind by her table. She did not look at them, they would only remind her of what occurred moments ago. The ache in her body and the sickness in her heart were reminder enough.

The moon's soft and brilliant glow shined on her naked back as she covered herself with her arms in an embrace, trying to remember, instead, what love felt like. But that feeling had long been forgotten. She was empty and she had nothing, owned nothing. The few items that filled the room seemed to mock her.

The hard bed that was more like a prison cell than a resting place.

The pink rouge and white powder atop a stool.

The wrinkled bills earned through disheartened moans and false caresses.

She could only gather comfort from the memories she held close to her heart, in a place where the darkness and ugliness that surrounded her could not reach them. Memories of a time when her life was beautiful; of a time when her future was but a dream.

The bleak and gray colors of the room slowly became the vibrant hues of green and red, blue and yellow only found in her memories as she allowed herself to remember those times. The shouts from the drunk men outside became the laughter of her friends as they ran through the fields in the summer. The coldness of hell that clung to her skin receded under the warmth of the sun, and she once again felt the beginnings of a smile on her lips.

Her life had been child's play and innocence once. She had been young and daring, and the world had been a game. Her days were spent under the brightness of the sky, imagining the shapes the clouds formed as they made their way through the heavens. Laughter was a melody that could be heard often wherever she went. There had been no cost to pay, no sacrifice to make. Life was like sweet wine tasted by budding lips.

This was a time when she could dream about all the unending possibilities. She had dreamed of a simple future filled with love and family, of a husband and children with whom she could share her joy and hopes with.

Her smile fell as she reminded herself that the future that she had dreamed of had remained exactly that: a dream.

Perhaps it had been too much to ask for.

Perhaps her naiveté had been her sin, and now the life she had lived was nothing but a long forgotten dream.

Her room lost the color and beauty only encountered in her memories, and she once again found herself alone. Her body dirtied, her thighs bruised. With trembling hands she touched her bald head, remembering the long curls that had cascaded down her back in times past. Yes, she had been beautiful once. Her hair had been lush, her smile wide, her eyes bright and filled with--but no, any beauty had withered and died as the years passed and her dreams decayed. As life fought against her and forced her to commit the unimaginable.

There was no escaping her current predicament, no matter how many times she tried to dream.

Her breath quickened and a sob escaped her lips.

She remembered a time when love was an act of beauty, not a violation. She remembered him, the man that had come into her life like a tempest, turning everything upside down and challenging all she had ever known. And she had not cared when he had taken her into his arms, and whispered warm promises in her ears. She had not cared when he took away her virtue, and made sweet, tender love. She had loved him wholeheartedly and had thought him the key to the future she dreamed of as the days gave way to months. Their life together would be perfect. They would raise a family together, a home. She had been so close to making her dreams come true!

But Fate was a cruel thing. Life was such a cruel thing.

Those dreams died when Death took him away in a sudden, cold night and the screech of wheels on asphalt. They rotted in his grave as she caressed her belly, for when he died he left behind a broken heart and a gift in her womb.

Everyday she dreamed of him, of how he would come and whisk her and their daughter away to some beautiful place far away from this madness. But dreams were just dreams, after all, and she endured every hardship that came her way to keep her daughter alive. A daughter she could no longer see and visit, for she had sent her to live far away so that the girl could not witness the shameful thing her mother had become. She missed her daughter's laughter, so similar to her own all those years ago. She missed her starlit eyes and radiant voice. But what did it matter if she could not see her anymore as long as her daughter was safe and alive? Because she would do anything for her daughter, the only thing she could now call hers, the only joy left in her life. Even if it meant living in a life that was not hers, profiting from a body that was no longer her own, remembering a dream that had died a long time ago. Even if she was only an object to be used for pleasure, as long as some bills were left by the table. Her dreams were not meant to be, and this was a battle she could not fight.

She had dreamed of a life so different from this living hell.

Because life had taken it all away, hadn't it? It had taken away her hair, her body, her dignity, her future. Her love. She had nothing left to give, life had taken it all. Dreaming had taken it all. She was empty, nothing but an empty shell. And yet she had tears to cry. Tears that ran down her powdered face as she felt the bruises in her arms and the ache between her legs that had become deaf some time ago. Tears that she could not hold in as she tried to muffle the sobs that escaped her reddened lips.

This rotten life, this hell she was in, this was the cost of dreaming. This was the cost of dreaming under the sky, in the safety of somebody else's arms. She was paying this cost dearly and there was no way out.

Dreaming had killed her life.

She wiped away her tears, letting all memory go, and receding into the dark place that welcomed her like a lover's embrace. The moon's bright light became a shadow, covered by a coming cloud. And she stilled, preparing for the man whose footsteps resonated on the stairs as he made his way down, and wishing he would leave some more bills than the last.