The Ugly Little Liar

Once upon a time there was a whore. She authored a blog. Here is what she had to say:
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I'm tired of living a lie. Of trying to make myself believe it's not a lie. They say seeing is believing, but what if everything that you see only pushes you further into disbelief? And amidst all the doubt, I have to shrug, smile and play along like it's the most genuine thing in the world. I have to live a double fraud. I have to get defrauded and I have to continue to perpetrate that fraud without acknowledging it as one.

I do not know how much longer I can pull this stunt- I'm tired. Justifiably so because it has not been easy. It's never easy to keep one's side of the bargain with so much diligence only to watch it being flagrantly violated by the other faction. Today I'm at a stage that I think is the detritus of the human soul. Im a decay product of a person who inherently believed in good and lived by it, only to face a tragic death at the hands of sheer deceit. I remember I was a person when I started out but inevitably ended up as a whore. I ended up with not an iota of dignity or self respect within me. Worse because of my acceptance to live so. I'm no longer the person who cares about anything any longer. I work in my capacity as a whore and I get paid accordingly. I've learnt to shut my eyes and ears and carry on with my double-fraud whore-job every day. With no modesty left to guard, I'm free like the wind. Yayyyy.

At this juncture, a passage from Julius Caeser comes to mind; one that gives words to my battle- the battle between the person I once was and the third grade being I have now transformed into.

[BRUTUS]
Be not deceiv'd: if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am
Of late with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,
which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours;
But let not therfore my good friends be griev'd-
Nor construe any further my neglect,
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.


But let not therfore my good friends be griev'd.
For I am the bitch that will always find my way back to my master. I will continue to wag my tail at my master's sight and and salivate at the sight of a juicy bone my master will throw at me. I will do my bit and accept payment in the form of words, smiles and promises. I am after all, an ugly little liar.

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She wasn't a slut. She wasn't a rape victim. She just lived in a world of promises constructed by liars. She was a trust victim.