DON'T JUDGE ME CHRISTIAN -SHORT FICTION

The prostitute shares her heartbreaking story while calling the Christian out for the sin of judging.

As I sit in my hell, you judge me. You say I brought this on myself, that I picked this line of work because of my devilish nature. Doesn’t your bible teach you not to judge? Yet you judge me.

I feel the disdain as you click your perfect tongue at me, a tongue without vile, or so you believe. You cross the street as you approach me as if by merely walking by me, my sin will rub off on you. You turn your child’s head the other way as you mutter to them a lesson about staying in school if they don’t want to end up like me. You tell me to get off drugs, yet I have never even sipped alcohol, and you indulge in it nightly.

Of course, what hurts the most, is when you say I do it because I enjoy it. -Because I enjoy it! You think I like prostitution? I wouldn’t wish this lifestyle on you; you, my enemy who despises everything about me.

You judge me, Dear Christian, yet I was a blessed Christian once myself. I had high values, as you proclaim to have, but mine were stauncher. I have never taken a chemical substance, but you have. I didn’t test the boundaries, but you did as a youth. I was the perfect child, or at least my parents told me that before they died.

I graduated high school, then moved to university. My parents would have been proud of me. Perhaps, even you would have smiled at me then.

I met a devoted Christian like yourself in my second year of university. He swept me off my feet. We married as virgins, at least that is what he told me. Nonetheless, I was a virgin when I married. Can you say the same?

I devoted myself to my husband. I sacrificed my dreams as I dropped out of university and bore him three lovely children. I did everything for my husband, the love of my life. I gave him home of order, and it was a lovely home. We were well-to-do, perhaps even more financially stable than you.

My husband traveled internationally, and this added to our income and status. Maybe I was as pompous as you. I hope not. But then, my Christian husband did a non-Christian thing. He made some dirty trades, whatever that means, and was caught on the other side of the law. They arrested that Christian husband of mine, and today, he atones in jail for what he did.

Suddenly, my world collapsed. They took my home. They took my car. They took my pride. They took my status. The only thing I could keep were my children, all under the age of seven.

They threw me on the street without a university education or any skill. Yet, I had three young kids entirely dependent upon me.

I tried to get a job, but I could only find low-paying jobs since I had nothing to offer on my blank resume. I couldn’t even afford daycare from those wages or an apartment and food.

I quickly found myself in a homeless shelter with my darling babies. Me, homeless. Me, who had lived in the mansion on the hill. Me, who had done everything right, yet now I had nothing.

I cannot even describe the misery of the shelter. My children and I got lice and bedbugs. I had to see bite marks on their skin. Sleep was impossible from the constant night sounds of people hacking or talking. We lived in continual terror. I don’t believe a day passed when one of us wasn’t sick.

During the third month in this wretched condition, a man confronted me and told me I had stunning beauty and could use it to rescue my kids from our unstable life. Naively, I jumped on it. I foolishly believed he planned to make me a movie star or a model.

He took us to this mansion that surpassed the one my Christian husband had given me. A community of beautiful women and children who lived there.

The man gave me a large room to live in with my children. We shared a kitchen with five other women and their children. We lived in pure comfort for a week, long enough for my kids to settle and love the place.

My kids loved the toy rooms and the playground. They made friends with the other kids.

They liked feeling safe.

During the second week there, the man told me I would escort high-profile clientele. I about died when I learned he expected me to do prostitution.

I flipped out and refused his career choice since I was a Christian, like you, Dear Christian. The man was decent with me and returned my kids and me to the shelter. He handed me a card with his contact info, just in case I changed my mind.

My children bawled when we returned to the shelter. My soul dipped into the most profound depression ever. I wanted to end my life, but I couldn’t leave my children without a mother. It destroyed me when we acquired lice again.

Then one night, while I slept, a man at the shelter snuck into the women’s quarters and grabbed my youngest child. My three-year-old daughter screamed in a tone that could have shattered crystal, a horrific scream that haunts my nightmares today. I chased that man, and security apprehended him before he could leave the building.

My daughter’s abduction dragged me to my life’s worst, lowest moment. I could no longer stay in a place where my children were not safe.

So, I did what I had to do. I called the pimp to save my kids.

I hate my career with every cell of my body. Dear Christian, you judge me, but trust me, my hate for myself surpasses all your ungodly judgment.

Dear Christian, you who have never known sorrow as I have known, a privileged individual who sits upon your seat of grandeur, you judge me. But you have never known hell as I have known. You have never had to decide between your virtue or your child’s. Dear Christian, you judge me through Satan’s eyes, not God’s.

I do not know what God thinks of me right now, but I do know he still loves me. He knows my pain. He knows my story, and in the end, Dear Christian, He will judge us both.