How did she die?

Posted: June 4, 2010 in True Story

There is a lady who comes to the gas station two or three times a day to buy single cigars for her boyfriend. I have yet to see him but I know why she runs his errands for him. I look into her eyes and can see where the light used to shine though and am startled by the empty blackness I see behind them. I wonder when it was that she gave up and resolved herself to this fate. No more reason to hope or to dream, no reason to strive for something better.

The music she blares from her car stereo consist of thunderous beats that completely drown out the lyrics. A metaphor for her life perhaps? Surrounding herself with noise so that no one can her the screams that tiny bit of her soul that she has left wails out. Her face is pockmarked from untreated acne and her eyes are dark. Rarely does she smile and even then it seems forced.

I think she is aware of her lot in life. She has grown accustomed to making as much impact on the world as a shadow on a cloudy day. She cloaks her misery in shirts that are a bit too small and reveal a bit too much. She is no real beauty and her hips and the pouch between the tops of her too snug shorts and too short shirts states clearly that she has borne at least one child. Not enough to destroy her once nice figure but enough to give her concerns that her man will stray, a near inevitability in the economically downtrodden complexes and shadowed corners she calls home. She uses her now more than ample breasts to draw attention from the empty space behind her eyes where her hope used to live. Her tops have no sleeves and a plunging neckline, held up on both shoulders by the tiniest strip of cloth. She is not yet too old to go without a bra but it is apparent that she will soon have no other choice.

For now she is content to let the masses ogle her as she bounces and sways, her silver dollar sized nipples visible through the thin fabric, content that no man in her life will look up long enough to see how little of her is left.


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