The HarlotA Story by Paul PisacaneMy head lies gently on her lap as I sob
another moment away. Misery has reaped through my cortex again and this time I
can’t control it. I take a look up every now and then to a face of complete
apathy. There’s a huge lack of sympathy in her eyes, but I don’t care. I only
need her for the concept, a performance would’ve cost too much. Now a days I
can hardly afford these repeated “therapy” sessions for I can’t seem to grasp a
well standing job. I understand the economy is weak, but I feel pathetic knowing
I’m on the bottom. The lack of money and therapy isn’t doing me well. I’ve been
in this state my entire life and you’d hope I would’ve learned by now, but as
the years roll by I find myself falling more and more into it. After a while
you just stop trying to get up because that’s too much effort. You’re too
comfortable here. © 2014 Paul Pisacane |
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1 Review Added on May 5, 2014 Last Updated on May 5, 2014 Tags: The Harlot, Short Story, Prostitution, Depression, Emotion, Guilt Author
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