The whistling wind, reads aloud her sins, plays drums, backed up by violins, sharp nails on black boards. Peccant, had no significance. fantasized to be radiant.
Her society is stricken with poverty, ought to provide shelter for her family, couldn't go to Oxford, mother could not afford. To have milk and honey, this is her story.
Survived on petty jobs, babysitting and wiping tables at coffee shops, one day at a bus stop, met a lad and his chaps. Surrounded, skilled for they were once apprehended. Defenseless.
Broken nose, sprained ankles, dislocated bones, shot to the knees to beg. And they went to the next. Molestation, series of a occasion, exploitation, sexual satisfaction, peer validation, sprouted from sexual attraction.
Gave a report, written "It was an assault," Authorities had a doubt, "It is your fault" "Skirts are too short" "Shirts are open cut." Jeans are too tight, what brought you out at that time of the night?
To forget this tribulations, dressed flamboyantly, it became an addiction, star to pornography, sold to prostitution. Gave a report, sexual assault, threw insults, said it was her fault.