This piece of prose started as an exercise in my creative writing in class in high school. We had to think of some struggle, I think is how it went. This is about a teenage girl who ran away from home for some reason or another and ending up in a life that she never wanted. I was trying to see how those girls feel, the inner thoughts that they have. It almost made it into our Lit. Mag (Tabula Rasa), but the Editor in Chief and I had some disagreement about the title. Since then I've been revising it and trying to make it better. It's not quite how I want it, but I think it's getting there. And here it is, Harlot's Shame:
I live a life of shame. I know they cross the street so they don’t have to walk by me, that they whisper and gossip about my shame to their neighbors. I try to remember why I did it, how it happened and I want to blame it all on you. But . . . I can’t. I can’t because you just wanted to do what was right. I did it. I’m sick and alone and cold, and I did it. I’m always alone, even when I’m with someone. I sit by this wall all day and all night, and everyone who passes ignores and judges me and I feel like that guy in the bible, the one who got robbed. Except no one ever stops to help me and I can’t do it on my own.