Lola’s Story

My name is Lola and I’m 23 years old.  My hair is dark, past my shoulders.  My eyes, the windows to my soul, are unreadable, or so men have told me.  They have hidden depths.  If they knew what was really hidden in those depths, they would never sleep again.  I couldn’t even begin to describe to them the horrors and humiliations that I’ve suffered over the last decade or so….but I sometimes think it would be amusing to try, to watch them squirm and writhe in horror, whimper pitifully like the  bitches they really are.

Men find me attractive but that’s not really surprising.  I have a dancer’s body and I’m beautiful, or so I’ve been told, but beauty really is only skin deep.  There is darkness in my soul.  I’m damaged goods…

I was 11 when I was taken.  It was the day of my audition to play Marie in The Nutcracker.  I’d practiced for months and, with casual childish arrogance, had assumed that the part was mine. I just knew that I was going to be Marie!  How could it not be?  I’d danced each step to perfection.  I rushed gleefully from the stage into my mother’s arms, expecting her to be as excited as I.  Instead she urged caution, warned me that the part wasn’t yet mine.  Pushing her away I yelled that she didn’t know what she was talking about, to go away and that I hated her.  Those were the final words to my mother.  How often I’ve regretted them, wished that I could take them back, although I doubt that she remembers them now, for I have been replaced.  Replaced with a perfect daughter, one who doesn’t shout that she hates her mother.  This perfect daughter is a fetch.

Quite simply I hate her.  She has stolen my life, the life I should be leading.  I have considered killing her, torturing her, making her scream and beg for mercy, like they did to me.  They stole 12 years of my life and she should pay for that.  All the while I’ve been living in that hell, she has been going to school, making friends, dating….all those everyday things that we all take for granted.  Except people like me…

But how could I?  What would I tell my parents?  How would they ever understand?  How would I ever begin to explain?

What if they didn’t want me?  Their perfect daughter replaced with me.  Their lives would be turned upside down, it would be as though I were the fetch.  They don’t know me anymore.  I’m damaged immeasurably.  I’m not sure the old Lola exists any more. That place made me into what I am today and that person is destined to walk alone.  It can be no other way.


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