[Very]Miss Creant.

Disclaimer : Any similarity to the living or dead, is purely coincidental. This story, is fictitious and has nothing to do with anyone's life.
DN.

So, here it goes.

I am dying. Yeah, death on a wheel chair. Ever heard of that? Slowly wasting this beautiful body. And all the 'assets' men looked at and paid for. Why?
You may ask. And sneer. Why did I choose this life? Did I ? Honestly, did I have a choice?
What with, love for him on one side and complete trust. And unseen future on the other side?
I was robbed of my innocence, my purity and love, all in a single night. All by the same person I adored and loved.

No no. This aint any melodrama. This is life. My bloody life! He had me that day. And then, the next thing I knew, I was dragged from my wedding bed to his friends.
You know crying never helps. I cried out loud. They did everything they felt like and he abandoned me.
Serves me right. Leaving my parents for the 'love' he gave me. For all those sweet nothings.

For some days I cried, begged. I strayed on the streets. Then one night, a man came. Offered me money to have me.
I thought why not? I have nothing that is mine now. I was hungry. I was angry. With myself.
I never tried returning home. Bro would have found that insulting. Dad, a burden.
So, there I was selling my body, my looks. I joined a brothel and soon became the hottest 'commodity' there.

You know the best part? My 'husband' one day visited me there. The brothel. He had asked for the best. I saw him and suddenly was taken aback. And then, in control, and without emotion, removed my saree. He left without a word or a second glance.
Must have told his friends. They came in, one by one. Secretly. Had me again, more brutally than before.

And then the usual swear words. Being a whore aint easy. You give them you and they give you pain. You are a thing. Not human. You have to be in my shoes to know how I feel. Some ask me to remove my mangalsutra. Not that I mind it. I, in fact promptly remove it. But that, somehow reminds me of the past, when I had his love. Or felt he loved me. It is blissful. The blush I had on the wedding day.. Like any bride, I wished to be adored. Ceremonies were not the issue. The issue was the feel of being "wanted". And this mangalsutra, is my token of love. My past, my memories. Me. The inner me. Anyways, I didnt need the mangalsutra when I was whoring.

So, I made money. Lots. My body has always gotten eyes like metal to magnet. And I learnt my trade pretty quickly. Thank god I saved enough to buy me medicines and that surgery and this wheel chair. What??
Dont stare. I was good looking. Somebody payed me with money AND AIDS. And surgery, for a small benign tumor. Not that it changed anything after the surgery. I was destined to die. Everyone is. Just a bit early for me. The tumor grew back. Malignant.

No, nothing has changed. I was a tumor. Now, I have a tumor. My body was sexy. Now, it is sexually diseased.
So, that is that. Max, a month. No one to even push me around. Brothel ditched me. He ditched me. God ditched me. And I am thinking of ditching life.
The problem being, I am not even strong to kill myself now.
Can you help? I am dying. Can you just make it a bit earlier? Can you kill the wheelchair whore? Hahahaha! Wheelchair whore! I hate this damned pain.
Can you kill? A little help?
Kill me!! Kill... M...e...