Timothy

fetalzone

there is dim light in the employee bathroom. well, it is
more like a behind the stage closet with a toilet in it. the
only running water toilet in the old building on main
street. she loosens her corset and sighs of relief as the
walebone slowly unwraps her torso and lets go of her skin,
her breasts and her posture.

the night is done for her. outside the crowd is still
partying, but since the show is over, her services are no
longer required, the crowd is served and now out to dance
away the stress of the week, the daylight and everyday's
worries. for as long as it lasted her mask was one of
seductive perkyness. she uses it to sell to people whatever
it is they need. now she is no longer needed.

she is alone, the lights are only on for those above, in
front of the stage. the salt on her skin tastes like work.
she sits down on a stool in the corner, closes her eyes and
takes a deep breath. sometimes she wishes she was one of
them. the party crowd. those who laugh and talk and dance
the night away as if it was the last one to be. sometimes
when her work is done, she goes and plays to be one of them.
she dances and laughs and talks as if it was the last night
of her live as if she did not have to turn every penny for a
bite to eat and a sip to drink.

but she is alone, and tonight her heart is heavy. she wont
go out to play, she will wrap herself into her coat and walk
home undetected and knowing she wont be missed by a crowd to
whom she is only known for as long as she is around.