Death and All His Friends

Room

Key Fourteen: Room:

-Ophelia-

They all look the same, you know? It's just like it was in Paris when I was human.

I stood against the red wall in Paris. All I had to do was look pretty in this club downtown. Madam let me go out tonight. At the time, I wasn't pretty enough to work in the classier places.

"You're just so pale," she would say. "You have to work your way up to the top." Ha. More like show how low you were willing to go to disgrace yourself. Still, I needed to eat.

I was the pretty thing waiting in the hall. If you were in Paris, you might have seen me. I always stood in the hall in my long blue dress. My shoes and lipstick always match. Somehow, the men loved the pale and skinny look. It kind of worked to my advantage.

I can still see that damned hallway to this day. So much red underneath the dim lights. It always smelled like cigarettes. You could hear the music from the club. The walls were painted brick while the floor was tiled a faint green and yellow. Aside from me, there was a case for a fire extinguisher and the only exit. I would stand there night after night and wait.

Oh? I heard someone coming toward me. I don't look up. I could smell his cologne before he sees me.

"Are you lost little girl?" he asked.

"No," I mumbled. I started to picture whom I was dealing with. He stinks. They all stink.

"Come on, let me get a good look at you," he said. I lifted my head and forced myself to smile. I don't remember his face. They all look the same.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Charlotte," I said. I tried not to look at his teeth as he smiles at me.

"That's a pretty name," he said.

"Thanks," I muttered.

There is nothing grosser than having sex in a club bathroom stall. They don't even try to take me back to a cheap motel. No, it's down the hall and into the men's room. My skin crawled as he pushed me against the wall. He doesn't have a face anymore. They all started to blend together. Despite this, I still feel sick.

It's no different than it is now.

I hate this room. It smells like all of them. Nothing has changed. They start to look the same in the Tower. I feel like I am going to vomit.

Here I stand in this room of mirrors. I'm wearing that same blue dress I wore when I was in the hallway of seedy clubs. Only now, I am paler and thinner. You can't make a skeleton look beautiful. This has to be what hell looks like. I can even smell cigarettes in this room.

The door opens again. I never remember their faces. They all look the same anyway. I stand there and wait. The rest is so predictable.

"What's your name?"

"Katherine."

"That's a lovely name."

"Thanks."

I do get a bed this time. It's not any better. At least I'm not in a dirty bathroom stall but I might as well be. They still blend together. But they smell all the same. They stink. Their rot lingers on my skin. It did back then and it still does now. No scrubbing in the world can get it off of me.

Here we go again.

"What's your name?"

"Lexi."

"That's a lovely name."

"Thanks."

There are so many mirrors in this room. So many ways I can see my life spiraling down the drain. It's just like it was in Paris. I'm drunk enough for this.

Somehow, I think I died and went to hell. That has to be it. There is no other reason. But why am I like this? I tried to be a good person.

I shook my head.

No, I didn't die. That would be a mercy. I laughed and then I got sad. Nowadays, I can't tell if I'm laughing or crying. Or maybe it's both.

"What's your name?"

"Alice."

"That's a lovely name."

"Thanks."

I still had to work during the plague. I have seen the other girls drop off dead. I'm not talking about HIV/AIDS either. No, that would be a mercy. At least they would have medicines to deal with it. No, what came here had no cure. I watched them waste away faster than old AIDS patients. They couldn't figure out how they were getting it.

"Are you sick?"

"No."

Even then they still looked the same. The disease didn't change anything in that perceptive. Were they that desperate for sex to risk dying?

"What's your name?"

"Jane."

"That's a lovely name."

"Thanks."

It wouldn't be long before the illness claimed me. The doctors couldn't do anything. I ended up near death in a shelter for the victims of the plague.

But I didn't die. No, that would've been a mercy.

So why didn't I leave? Why didn't I pack up and run away? No money. By then, I became numb. You could say that I died inside. Many times. Sure, I lived in a nice apartment toward the end and had nice things, but it came at a cost of myself.

"What's your name?"

"Samantha."

"No, tell me your real name."

"Hm?"

"What is your real name?"

"Ophelia."

"Why are you doing this, Ophelia?"

"What do you mean?"

"You are better than this. Get out while you still can."

"Heh. What are you, some sort of a priest coming to save my soul?"

"Look at yourself."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then it might be too late."

They all look the same. But he stood out for some reason. I can't remember his face or his name. But he had on a fancy dark blue suit.