HER SKIN

She knew deep down no part of her loved the image in the mud smudged cracked window of their ghost house. Being brown-skinned has not been too kind to her; she counted the seconds and sang along to the long arm of the clock as she waited for her next client to be sent in.

She heard her mistress walk down the stairs, and with every step she took and ever cries the old floor gave, she prepared herself for another session of emotionless intimacy with yet another drunken bastard that found joy in torturing her soul.

She set on the linen dressed bed of gold, and posed, waiting for the nightmare to end. She has lost count of the men that have entered and left her chamber, of how many babies she has given to the third world, of how many nights she has tried to scrub off the shame of having brown skin. See, for women with fair skin knew not the word suffering, they were of fair skin, how could they.

She flashed a smile as her mistress entered, looked at the men in front of her but she could not make out how he looked, for they all looked the same, soulless. She walked up to him and got down on her knees as she was taught and had done for many years, she listened to her mistress spit out the rules of the room, of which there was one, have fun, for she cared not what they did to her as long as she got her money.

Once she left, she stood up, guided the soulless man to the bed, and played out any fantasy he so required. Every second that went past felt like forever, she gave in to world’s selfishness and hatred to brown skinned women. Once done, the man stood up and smirked, gave her a wet kiss and told her this is all she’s worth.

Her skin, oh how she despised it. With every break of dawn, she knew her fate, with no tears left she cursed God, for she was done asking why she was done believing.

Lucy walked in with her breakfast and a timetable for the day. Despite all she was well fed, well looked after, after all, she was the star, she was precious, highly priced, for a brown skinned girl that only meant, she was the finest meat in the city.

She swallowed her food quietly and slowly as Lucy stood hovering over her making sure she ate every last bit of the meal. She knew better than to utter a word in her presence for the punishment of speaking without permission was twice worse than the many men she had to sleep with every waking day. Once done, she set out on the mission of scrubbing off her brown skin in hope that one day it will fall off, for death would be far too kind.

Could life be any more unfair, how much longer was she to suffer the curse of the brown skin, she was beautiful, a goddess even but she saw it not as life dared not show her what happiness and self-worth felt like. Every part of her cried for a mother not known, for a child of innocence left to fend her infant self in the cruel world, for a soul lost in the heart of hatred.

Heaven was a distant fairy tale, the God she heard not of but used to pray to had left her heart, and alone she stood in the room and counted the seconds. He walked in with such grace, such power, he was different, and she felt it even before she looked up. For the first time in risen moons and sunsets, she could make out his face. For a man of fair skin, he was too perfect.

He had a sad look in his eyes, not the excited look of those who had entered and left the room. He stood in silence facing her as her mistress went on and on about how she was the best, he heard naught as all of him was fixed on her. She felt his stare, it pierced her heart and left her breathless, she was overwhelmed by his presence, never has any man made her feel this way. Her feet felt like jelly as she sought deep down for the strength to look upon the stranger in her room.

She stood up and led him to the bed without setting her eyes on him; she shook all over while her heart was in a series of cartwheels. His hands were soft, yet firm, he smelt of soap and sun-kissed lavender, his breath was heavy, funny he was just as scared as she was. He sat on the bed, looked at her, and smitten he was. She was beautiful; her dress fell with grace around her curved thighs, and her breasts peeked out the satin ripe. For the first time she felt attracted to a soul, she soaked in his presence; she was bravely shy and ready to crawl away, yet she wanted to feel his touch.

He was told of this magnificent beast, of her grace and poise, of her beauty and ability to make any man weak. He was ready to get a piece of the priced jewel of the city; he was ready to indulge in a brown-skinned woman, a forbidden fruit yet praised to be eaten. As she moved towards him, she beckoned herself to keep calm, this man had complete control over her being and she knew no way out.

She stood in front to him and fought hard to keep her composure, the hate she knew and kept close had left her, and she knew not what to feel or do, hear heart was drawn to a pale skinned man of purity. He slowly worked his way up her curved thighs and pulled her closer to his heart, his breathing was no longer of his own control as he inhaled her scent of raspberry and vanilla.

He kissed her tender lips and held her tight; all he thought of was how it would feel to be inside her. He was ready to take on the priced jewel of the city and be amongst the many men who bragged and told tales of what she did to them. She was slowly drawn into his desires, his fantasy, and his wishes. They were both ready to give in, yet they couldn’t.

He held her and she fought away tears, no man has ever made her feel sorrow and joy, no man has ever held her like she mattered, no man has ever made her feel like she’s worth it. She wriggled free from his strong hold and fell to the floor, she wept and wept for her torn soul, this beast without much words and action broke her. She knew not why he had so much power over her, why she was weakened to tears by a man she has never known, why he took away her breath with a simple touch. She hated him, she loved his purity. He fell to her side and held her close, let her weep for he knew why, there was nothing he did or said yet he understood the tears of a harlot with no soul. They were lost in the moment that time forgot to stop in their favor.

They heard footsteps and quickly returned to reality, he held one last time and let her feel warmth she has never known; let her feel alive in deaths world, and whispered into her ear, words that helped her find comfort in each day's pain.

She awakened from her dream to face the day filled with no life and no soul, with hopes that someday it will be more than just a dream, she held on to the image of a stranger of purity never known to the naked eye. She held on to words of an imaginary savior, to words she has told herself over and over again from the minute she was sold into the world of shame, Brown Skinned Girl You are Beautiful, and One Day It will be OKAY.