Filthy Individuals

Hands smacked against my back, striking red-hot where my scars had barely healed. I could feel the blood running down in little streams, down my legs, forming a grotesque puddle below.

The man behind me moaned and dropped me on the floor. I didn't even remember his face. The gravel on the ground, dug into my back, embedding themselves deep inside.

He threw money at my feet; a measly amount, barely enough to feed my family for a day. I gazed at the brick wall in front of me, its surface worn by constant use.

I couldn't do this anymore. It was too much.

I was a mere shell of myself. What was the point of existence if I had to sell my body? My muscles had wasted away, my belly had become hollow from starvation. Who was I?

In a daze, I got up and left the dingy alley that always appeared in my worst nightmares. I could feel people staring at my back, the scars, the pain written in them, but no one helped.

They never did.

Dropping the money next to my mom on the ground where she laid, I observed her sickly-red lipstick and the black substance gathering at the corner of her lips. My love for her had shrivelled and turned bitter.

I walked away from her, heading towards the bridge, my happy place.

But that didn't offer much happiness anymore either.

I climbed over the bridge and stood at the edge, gazing down into the water. Heavy grey waves crashed into the stones below, making me smile.

I had tried to be as resilient as the stones, but I had failed. My tears had dried up, my pain had numbed; I spent my days wide-eyed and uncaring.

I stepped closer towards the edge and jumped off, the water rushing up to meet me.

I had always wanted to know what flying felt like.