May Contest

Moneymaking Machine

For the umpteenth time, I watch the door creak open and usher in Aunty Beatrice and another man. My body’s very weak, but I brace myself for the pains because I’ve become inured to them. Phlegmatic, yet melancholic.

I want to ask Aunty Beatrice why she betrayed me, why she brought me here to become her moneymaking machine, an object of sexual abuse, but my voice fails me. Instead, the cries of my babies she sold off fill my ears. I’m losing my mind!

I watch Aunty Beatrice leave as usual for this man to take his turn.

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