Ellie Lewis opened her eyes. Sunlight was streaming through a window, falling across her face. She blinked hard. The window was dirty, framed by limp, worn drapes imprinted with the wispy ghosts of flowers. For a moment she thought, who am I? Where am I? She rose with a start, springing upright on a squeaky, lumpy bed.
"Ouch!" she cried, grabbing her head. She moaned softly and rubbed her throbbing temple. Her mouth tasted stale and bitter, and for a moment she feared nausea would overcome her.
She steadied herself and looked around. She was in a small, disheveled room filled with shabby furniture. Pale green walls rose in a slow oval to form a cracked, conical ceiling. From the end of the room Ellie heard the sound of running water coming from behind a closed door.
Ellie looked down at herself. She was lying naked under a white sheet. “What the hell?” she said. She wasn’t… But the thought that had begun to form in her mind of someone else, someone very different from her, faded just as a dream evaporates when you awake.
A flimsy bed stand stood crookedly beside her. On it a clear, glass ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts. Some had the faint impression of red lipstick.
Ellie couldn't remember ever smoking, nor if she had ever favored red lipstick, but she had the sudden revelation that she couldn't remember anything else, either. She felt certain her name was Ellie, but beyond that, there was nothing except for vague faces floating at the edge of her memory.
Next to the ash tray was a half-full glass of a foul, muddy-colored liquid. Ellie didn't have to pick up the glass to guess its contents. The reek of cheap whiskey was thick in the room.
"You've overslept," a voice within her said. "You should have been back hours ago,"
The sound of water stopped, and the door opened. A man emerged. Ellie tensed, her nakedness doubling her feeling of vulnerability. She clutched the thin sheet against her breasts and held her breath. The man was dressed in loose-fitting charcoal slacks and a sleeveless undershirt. He tossed a sodden towel carelessly into a corner and moved assuredly across the room. He picked up a white, long-sleeve shirt from the dresser.
Ellie couldn't move, couldn't speak. She sat absolutely still and watched as the man buttoned his shirt and pulled up a pair of bright yellow suspenders.
"Hope to see you around, doll face," the man said, grabbing his coat and tie. He looked at his reflection in the dresser mirror. A satisfied smile indicated he was feeling pretty good about himself. "Not every day a guy screws a royal whore. I'm just glad I got to nail you before it was too late."
He reached into his pocket and produced a wad of colorful bills. "Godspeed, thanks for not rolling me," he said. "Between you and the hootch, my head was swimming pretty good." The man looked at his pocket watch. "Lords of Mercury, look at the time! I've got to get back to my berth before The Reckoning."
He tossed a bill on the table. "Here's an extra twofer for being such a great sport," the man added. "Buy yourself something pretty." he said with a satisfied laughed. "Better do it quick if you plan on enjoying it!"
Ellie gaped at the man as he adjusted his narrow black tie. He didn't seem to mind her silence. Royal whore or not, his business with her was over. Already she was fading from his memory like the cigarette butts in the ash tray. The man opened the outside door and without a look back, he was gone, leaving Ellie blessedly alone.
She sat for the longest time, trembling under the sheet. It was late in the day. Almost too late, she thought for reasons she couldn’t remember. Outside, the sun looked tired and golden. In her solitary room each moment seemed to tick away like a single picture frame of time. She tried not to think. She tried not to move. The world she found herself in felt so unbearable, she couldn't take it all in. She waited patiently for it to change, like a dreamer waiting for the next dream, but it didn't change and Ellie began to fear it never would.
Her return to reality occurred for strictly biological reasons. She had to pee. Slowly she stirred from the bed and stood groaning on painful pins-and-needles legs. She looked down at her nakedness. The sight startled her. Another thought, “I’m not…” teased her mind. Her body seemed foreign, strange. Could anything now be remembered or believed?
She noticed a black bra and matching panties hanging from the bedpost. A red and black dress was draped over a chair, black pumps askew below it. Ellie looked at the clothes and wondered what woman had bought them. Not her, she prayed! Surely not her!
She limped her way to the bathroom hoping that all evidence of the man who had left her the twofer was gone. Inside the door frame her hand found a light switch. She flipped it on, and a bare bulb blazed. Ellie squinted, her headache flared. Water was dripping into a rusted porcelain sink. A small cracked mirror hung precariously on the wall behind it. To her right was a grimy shower stall, to her left, a toilet. Against her better judgment, Ellie looked into it. A pale, translucent condom floated like a dead fish. She quickly slammed the handle and watched it flush.
She looked into the mirror. The image in the split reflection made her gasp. It was a heavily made up face. Small black rivulets of mascara had cascaded down her cheeks. Her lips were smeared with garish red lipstick. Ellie cringed. The man had spoken the truth. She was a whore!
"What have I become?" she asked the mirror. "Oh, sweet Lord, what have I become?"
Ellie wanted to survive this, and crying like a wounded child wouldn't help her cause. With great effort she shoved her despair deep within her and tried to focus on the tasks at hand. She went to the toilet and quickly did her business. Then she filled the sink with hot water and scrubbed away the makeup. When she was finished, she dared a second look. Water dripped from a surprisingly youthful face and a strange thought took hold. "This is what I looked like forty years ago," it said.
Ellie turned away. She stepped back into the bedroom and dressed awkwardly. She found she couldn’t exactly remember how to put on a bra. The red and black dress fit her a little too snugly (she struggled with its zipper), but she guiltily admitted its smooth, silky fabric felt wonderful against her skin.
Ellie spotted a large black bag below the bed stand. She dumped its contents onto the bed searching for clues to her identity. There was a small oval mirror, a makeup kit, lipstick. Under a bottle of perfume was a pair of black nylon stockings still wrapped in its package. None of the brand names looked familiar. She discovered a money clip, straining with a thick wad of colorful paper money. A fresh pair of panties. A box of condoms.
Ellie picked up a coin about the size of a nickel. The stern face of a woman was stamped upon it. The face looked at her accusingly. On the flip side was the number twenty-one. Twenty-one what, she wondered. Cents? Pesos? Rubles? And below the number was a name. "New Colony," Ellie read aloud.
She stared at the coin as if it might speak to her, to tell her what twenty-one meant, to tell her what any of this meant. She wanted it to reveal where the New Colony was and how she had gotten here. But the coin did not speak, nor did the money she pulled from the gold clip. With the exception of a bill she recognized as a twofer, all were multiples of seven: fourteen, twenty-eight, and at least two bills with the designation of seventy-seven.
The front of each bill was adorned with more grim, unfamiliar faces. The rear displayed engravings of large, black horse-like creatures with huge membrane wings, soaring over a city skyline. Ellie stared at the bill, pondering its meaning, then squeezed the money back onto the clip and put it back into the bag.
Under a pack of foul-smelling cigarettes, she discovered a flat, plastic identification card. "New Colony" was written across its top in large block letters. To the left was a hologram image of her looking sullen and unhappy. To the right was a name and statistics.
"Ellie Lanore Lewis," she read aloud. "Unit 28 Mercury. Limited Access Only. Prostitute C."
So there it was, spelled out for her to see. The name Ellie Lewis seemed false to her. It was not her real name, she felt. She was someone else. "28 Mercury." An address, possibly? "Limited Access Only" meant nothing to her. "Prostitute C." Well, she already knew that, but seeing it in writing greatly unsettled her. She stared off into the distance wondering what this all meant. It was a mystery. A sad, dreadful mystery. She gathered up the other items littering the bed, and tossed them into the bag.
Time passed. The setting sun added to her depression. Ellie had to force herself to move. She went to the window and looked out. Across a narrow alley was a long row of squat rooms, twins to the one she had found herself in, she guessed. Was it some sort of sleazy motel? The alley was still and vacant. She felt terribly alone.
She turned from the window. Another tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it with the back of her hand, looking momentarily like a lost, forgotten child. She picked up the black bag and went to the door. There she paused and looked around the room one last time. On the table sat the lone twofer. Ellie started for it but stopped. Her days as a whore were over, she told to herself, and she boldly went out the door.
"Ouch!" she cried, grabbing her head. She moaned softly and rubbed her throbbing temple. Her mouth tasted stale and bitter, and for a moment she feared nausea would overcome her.
She steadied herself and looked around. She was in a small, disheveled room filled with shabby furniture. Pale green walls rose in a slow oval to form a cracked, conical ceiling. From the end of the room Ellie heard the sound of running water coming from behind a closed door.
Ellie looked down at herself. She was lying naked under a white sheet. “What the hell?” she said. She wasn’t… But the thought that had begun to form in her mind of someone else, someone very different from her, faded just as a dream evaporates when you awake.
A flimsy bed stand stood crookedly beside her. On it a clear, glass ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts. Some had the faint impression of red lipstick.
Ellie couldn't remember ever smoking, nor if she had ever favored red lipstick, but she had the sudden revelation that she couldn't remember anything else, either. She felt certain her name was Ellie, but beyond that, there was nothing except for vague faces floating at the edge of her memory.
Next to the ash tray was a half-full glass of a foul, muddy-colored liquid. Ellie didn't have to pick up the glass to guess its contents. The reek of cheap whiskey was thick in the room.
"You've overslept," a voice within her said. "You should have been back hours ago,"
The sound of water stopped, and the door opened. A man emerged. Ellie tensed, her nakedness doubling her feeling of vulnerability. She clutched the thin sheet against her breasts and held her breath. The man was dressed in loose-fitting charcoal slacks and a sleeveless undershirt. He tossed a sodden towel carelessly into a corner and moved assuredly across the room. He picked up a white, long-sleeve shirt from the dresser.
Ellie couldn't move, couldn't speak. She sat absolutely still and watched as the man buttoned his shirt and pulled up a pair of bright yellow suspenders.
"Hope to see you around, doll face," the man said, grabbing his coat and tie. He looked at his reflection in the dresser mirror. A satisfied smile indicated he was feeling pretty good about himself. "Not every day a guy screws a royal whore. I'm just glad I got to nail you before it was too late."
He reached into his pocket and produced a wad of colorful bills. "Godspeed, thanks for not rolling me," he said. "Between you and the hootch, my head was swimming pretty good." The man looked at his pocket watch. "Lords of Mercury, look at the time! I've got to get back to my berth before The Reckoning."
He tossed a bill on the table. "Here's an extra twofer for being such a great sport," the man added. "Buy yourself something pretty." he said with a satisfied laughed. "Better do it quick if you plan on enjoying it!"
Ellie gaped at the man as he adjusted his narrow black tie. He didn't seem to mind her silence. Royal whore or not, his business with her was over. Already she was fading from his memory like the cigarette butts in the ash tray. The man opened the outside door and without a look back, he was gone, leaving Ellie blessedly alone.
She sat for the longest time, trembling under the sheet. It was late in the day. Almost too late, she thought for reasons she couldn’t remember. Outside, the sun looked tired and golden. In her solitary room each moment seemed to tick away like a single picture frame of time. She tried not to think. She tried not to move. The world she found herself in felt so unbearable, she couldn't take it all in. She waited patiently for it to change, like a dreamer waiting for the next dream, but it didn't change and Ellie began to fear it never would.
Her return to reality occurred for strictly biological reasons. She had to pee. Slowly she stirred from the bed and stood groaning on painful pins-and-needles legs. She looked down at her nakedness. The sight startled her. Another thought, “I’m not…” teased her mind. Her body seemed foreign, strange. Could anything now be remembered or believed?
She noticed a black bra and matching panties hanging from the bedpost. A red and black dress was draped over a chair, black pumps askew below it. Ellie looked at the clothes and wondered what woman had bought them. Not her, she prayed! Surely not her!
She limped her way to the bathroom hoping that all evidence of the man who had left her the twofer was gone. Inside the door frame her hand found a light switch. She flipped it on, and a bare bulb blazed. Ellie squinted, her headache flared. Water was dripping into a rusted porcelain sink. A small cracked mirror hung precariously on the wall behind it. To her right was a grimy shower stall, to her left, a toilet. Against her better judgment, Ellie looked into it. A pale, translucent condom floated like a dead fish. She quickly slammed the handle and watched it flush.
She looked into the mirror. The image in the split reflection made her gasp. It was a heavily made up face. Small black rivulets of mascara had cascaded down her cheeks. Her lips were smeared with garish red lipstick. Ellie cringed. The man had spoken the truth. She was a whore!
"What have I become?" she asked the mirror. "Oh, sweet Lord, what have I become?"
Ellie wanted to survive this, and crying like a wounded child wouldn't help her cause. With great effort she shoved her despair deep within her and tried to focus on the tasks at hand. She went to the toilet and quickly did her business. Then she filled the sink with hot water and scrubbed away the makeup. When she was finished, she dared a second look. Water dripped from a surprisingly youthful face and a strange thought took hold. "This is what I looked like forty years ago," it said.
Ellie turned away. She stepped back into the bedroom and dressed awkwardly. She found she couldn’t exactly remember how to put on a bra. The red and black dress fit her a little too snugly (she struggled with its zipper), but she guiltily admitted its smooth, silky fabric felt wonderful against her skin.
Ellie spotted a large black bag below the bed stand. She dumped its contents onto the bed searching for clues to her identity. There was a small oval mirror, a makeup kit, lipstick. Under a bottle of perfume was a pair of black nylon stockings still wrapped in its package. None of the brand names looked familiar. She discovered a money clip, straining with a thick wad of colorful paper money. A fresh pair of panties. A box of condoms.
Ellie picked up a coin about the size of a nickel. The stern face of a woman was stamped upon it. The face looked at her accusingly. On the flip side was the number twenty-one. Twenty-one what, she wondered. Cents? Pesos? Rubles? And below the number was a name. "New Colony," Ellie read aloud.
She stared at the coin as if it might speak to her, to tell her what twenty-one meant, to tell her what any of this meant. She wanted it to reveal where the New Colony was and how she had gotten here. But the coin did not speak, nor did the money she pulled from the gold clip. With the exception of a bill she recognized as a twofer, all were multiples of seven: fourteen, twenty-eight, and at least two bills with the designation of seventy-seven.
The front of each bill was adorned with more grim, unfamiliar faces. The rear displayed engravings of large, black horse-like creatures with huge membrane wings, soaring over a city skyline. Ellie stared at the bill, pondering its meaning, then squeezed the money back onto the clip and put it back into the bag.
Under a pack of foul-smelling cigarettes, she discovered a flat, plastic identification card. "New Colony" was written across its top in large block letters. To the left was a hologram image of her looking sullen and unhappy. To the right was a name and statistics.
"Ellie Lanore Lewis," she read aloud. "Unit 28 Mercury. Limited Access Only. Prostitute C."
So there it was, spelled out for her to see. The name Ellie Lewis seemed false to her. It was not her real name, she felt. She was someone else. "28 Mercury." An address, possibly? "Limited Access Only" meant nothing to her. "Prostitute C." Well, she already knew that, but seeing it in writing greatly unsettled her. She stared off into the distance wondering what this all meant. It was a mystery. A sad, dreadful mystery. She gathered up the other items littering the bed, and tossed them into the bag.
Time passed. The setting sun added to her depression. Ellie had to force herself to move. She went to the window and looked out. Across a narrow alley was a long row of squat rooms, twins to the one she had found herself in, she guessed. Was it some sort of sleazy motel? The alley was still and vacant. She felt terribly alone.
She turned from the window. Another tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it with the back of her hand, looking momentarily like a lost, forgotten child. She picked up the black bag and went to the door. There she paused and looked around the room one last time. On the table sat the lone twofer. Ellie started for it but stopped. Her days as a whore were over, she told to herself, and she boldly went out the door.
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