----Dasom

“Fear? I’ve been stripped of fear since birth. The life I have lived—the life I was cursed to live—makes one fearless. When fear is gone, something else takes over; something worse. Fear conquers that revolting feeling. I only wish to be able to experience the sweet escape of fear. What is that emotion, they ask? Shame.”

The life Dasom had lived was far from imaginable. Her parents—whoever they were—had left her at the doorstep of a random home then walked home with tear stained cheeks, hoping for only the best for their young daughter. In normalcy, the owner of the house would then come out in the middle of the cold, winter night to check on the soft, squealing cries of what seemed to be either a young cat or—under unforeseen circumstances—a little baby. They would’ve been an old couple who probably had never had a baby. They would be gracious, and they would thank God everyday of their lives as they raised the little girl up, their intention alike her biological parents. 

This wasn’t a movie. Dasom cried, yes. She cried her heart out that night and surely, a man came out. He wasn’t an ordinary man; he was a discreet drug lord. He took her in, wanting to kill her in his own time due to the loud racket she was making. However, something struck him the minute he was about to claim the life of a young, little girl; why not raise her up to be a prostitute? That way, he could earn more money. Sure enough, his maids took care of her, making sure she grew up to be a healthy, beautiful girl. She was sold to the brothel at the young age of fifteen. She trusted him; she trusted her so called ‘father’. He told her that he was going to bring her to a better place; people there were going to be her good friends and she’d have nothing but fun.

She still remembers her first client. He was a man in his middle ages; a revolting smirk was always plastered on his face. She could tell that he was rich due to his apparel, but she could also tell that he was married, depending on the ring on his finger.

Slowly but surely, Dasom got used to it. She got used to be raped—manhandled. In fact, Dasom loved it. She got addicted to it, and she couldn’t wait for her next client. Needless to say, Dasom was at the brink on insanity. Cataclysm had rained down on her life, and she loved it. She wanted it all. She was greedy. Then again, insanity was the only thing that could help her. Why? Insanity wraps itself around one’s mind and seep into their thoughts. Slowly but surely, it takes over and controls. It was better that way—to lose one’s mind. Without it, she would be able to experience the pitiful feeling of shame.