Life in Pariah

Marcus finally arrived in the area of town called Pariah. He had heard stories. It was where the outcasts of society ended up. Drug Addicts, Drunks, Fools.
Great place to hide. Marcus was at the old end of middle aged his face was youthful for his age but his silver hair betrayed him. His car was as old as he was although it looked more its age. His new house was being rented under a false name. He had worked up considerable gambling debts with the wrong people. His new name was Ethan.

He rounded a corner and was driving down a road when a masked man burst out of a store and was running across the road. He skidded his car to a halt to avoid hitting the person.
He drove to his new home. A three roomed trailer. Bedroom, Kitchen, Bathroom. He brought the car gently to a halt. Grabbed his jacket from the backseat everything he owned was wrapped up in it. The lock on the trailer door was broken and wouldn't open. He sighed and climbed through the window. The trailer smelled like a corpse and looked like a murder scene as well. There was red paint dripping onto the floor from a tin on its side on the kitchen table. He approached the table and righted the paint tin. There was a note from his land lord. "Ethan could you do me a favor, and paint the kitchen with the paint? Thanks, Greg" Ethan got the impression that he wasn't alone. He went into his jacket pocket and retrieved the small pistol he had taken to carrying and searched the trailer. He found his intruder in the bedroom. A raccoon. He laughed to himself. "This will take some getting used to."

Angelique woke up irritatted by the silence that came from the bar downstairs it was a cruel reminder that another day had dawned and she wasn't dead. She sat up wrapped in the filthy sheet that reeked of sex, sweat and cheap gin, and swung her long shapely legs over the edge of the bed. She pushed her short bobbed red hair out of her eyes and noticed the 60 bucks that the john had left her on her cheap black wicker night stand. 30 of which had to go to Heartless the owner of the bar and her pseudo pimp. He wasn't a bad guy never beat her and even occaisionally managed to do something nice for her like a new dress or knife some guy that was giving her hell, but he was a pimp none the less. She stood up letting the sheet fall away from her and walked across the room to the small bathroom and hoped int he shower. She turned the water on as hot as she could stand, and let it pour over her. Her right eye, a brilliant green, wandered casually over to the medicine chest where the bottle of temptation sat. The black letters glared out from the white background like neon against the night, "MORPHINE". She lifted her head and let the hot water turn her pale face red, relishing the discomfort trying to ignore the rising demon inside her.

"At least I can forget for a little while

She thought to herself. She shook her head, stepped out of the shower and grabbed her threadbare towel. IT barely covered her ample bosom and was barely capable to reach her upper thighs. She returned to the main room with the rickety bed with the thin matress on it, her nightstand, and a small dresser that was overflowing with her clothing and other the tools of her profession. She dressed herself in the skirt that Heartless had bought for her last month, it went to her ankles but had slits to the thighs, it was a black stretch velvet and accented her best assests, slipped on her thigh high seem socks barely noticing the hole in the toe, pulled on a fishnet shirt, not bothering with a bra they just got in the way anyway. She laced herself into a black faux leather underbust corsett that made her tiny waste even tinier then stepped into her stilletto heels. She stopped at the mirror by the door, and gave herself the once over. The bags under her eyes made her look like 25 instead of 19.

She walked back into the bathroom and applied her makeup, deftly creating a sensual pale goddess out of a worn out hooker. As she put the finishing touches on her eyeliner she lost herself in her own eyes. One bright green the other bright blue. The world of Pariah melted behind her as her memories fought to wrest away her sanity. There above her stood the Pastor and all the boys of the Parish shouting, calling her a demon spawn. In the Glint of the full moon a knife, she struggled and fought, kicked and bit, but they held her down....The knife the rip of clothing the Pastor's voice whispering in her ear, "After I am through with you I am going to rip out that demon green eye of yours. Look at this as your salvation." Another rip of clothing her shirt this time, a dog barking in the distance, the smell of sweat and fear, her screams. The bright light of a spotlight, they scattered and she was off and running. It seemed she didn't stop until she woke up in Pariah.

She was puking again and her right hand was gripped tightly to the rust stained sink as she vomitted into the toilet. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, spoiling the bright red lipstick. She washed her face, brushed her teeth re-applied her make up, and ratted her hair up like Siouxie Sioux and walked out of the aprtment, and down the rickety old stairs to the bar with her chunk of the rent.

She stepped into the bar her home for the last three years, and there stood Heartless watering down the vodka.

"Morning Angie,"

his voice the gruff baritone of one who stays up too late smoking and drinking,

"got anything for me?"

She smiled wryly and glared at him, after all he knew who she had gone upstairs with and how much he had paid her.

"Of course I do"

She tossed the money on the bar and sat down.

"That's a good girl, always on time."

She rolled her eyes and stared out the doors hopelessly.

I need a pack of cigarettes, I will be back, Harry.

You always are Angie, you always are.

He turned his back to her and placed the watered down vodka on the shelf behind the bar. When he turned around he had a bundle in his hands.

"Hey Angie, before you go, take this."

She stopped and turned around. It was a brown paper sack in his hands. She smiled as genuinely as her jaded nature would allow her. She walked over and took the bag from Heartless Harry, and opened it. She pulled out a velvet waistcoat that matched her skirt perfectly. She put it on. It was low enough in the front you could see everything but her nipples, it was perfect.

"Thank you Harry".

She whispered so that he would not hear the crack in her voice that signalled tears.

"You're a decent girl, in a bad job, no need for you to always look like you are on the clock."

"Thanks again."

She leaned over the bar and kissed him on the cheeck. That was the first time in a long time she had been called decent, maybe ever. With that she walked out into the glaring light of mid morning, and headed towards the mini-mart.