Looking down on the young mother that held her daughter's hand, salted with the flakes of dried tears. Natasha's mind was aloft, drifting off to some hidden cavern barried deep benieth the sands of her subconcious. This woman; no, this child shoved unjustly into the grown up and torn apart world; was a tragic memory forced to remimber in her darkist hours.
A beautiful and strong featured girl of her adolesent years, taken into the modeling indestry, her looks matched up to her personality, someone sure of herself and proud, lifted with the sence of carefree childish laughter. But this was set well before the drugs, alcohol and abundance of men. A stress that pulled her under crashing waves and bewildering storms, though her shell held strong and kept all at bay, a fatal pair soon entwined and wrecked her fate, stealing the stable flooring she struggled so hard to create under weak ankles.
A man, to who'm Natasha's memory forbids the mind to lapse any hint to who he was, took her childhood and sent her crashing into the walkways of a torn, grown up world. The sightstealing, jaw dropping brunett girl took to the stage at the ripe age of tweleve when the shadded man; a fat fellow who wore the nicest of suits and expences never seemed to threaten him, with just grabbing the child's attention he stole all the youth of her heart when discusions became intiment.
The man of rolls, double chins, filled lips of a swine and eyes that held lazy to his cheeks became Natasha's greatist support, but when it came the time of dusk, when the lights had just flickerd on in the streets and the smoke of his cigar hit the roof the humanized pig's plan came to its peek. He offered her his hand after a short turning on stage for one last look in a ball-gown dress, she was the one in millions of girls that crowded the scene. His meaty palms engulfed her tiny fingers as sweat dripped from his brow, taking the trusting child to the sports car that awaited the two in silents. This man was not her father, he was not a stranger, he was not a realitive or someone anyone would stop to question, he was unspeakable for all he was about to do though.
To steal a child's dream, a hope of being praised for beauty and to max out the compition, he stole that from her right as the doors slamed shut, after this night she would scrub at her skin in the old man's appartment, trying to rub out the filth she felt under her skin that never came clean even at the bleeding raw flesh that peeled away under the soap. She was a victum, someone that would owe this man even after he stole so much from her, he was not satisfied with the blood that came from between her legs after each night of a rough beating and the swelling of her arms from dark bruises, he was not satisfied with her cries and pleads as the pain shot through her spine with the weight of his body crushing her each night, he wanted more, and to gain that he would use her greatest gift, beauty.
Weeks after her abduction and a stealthy get away of the man, she was found on the streets, this was her thirteenth birthday present. Her eyes pained with thick makeup, her lips chapped but hid under the dark red gloss, and her legs dressed up in fishnet with a slick black dress that never came up past her shoulders. She was owned, she was stripped of all her hopes and dreams and her body was numb to all feeling, it had to be. Nights past with great pay, pleasing the swine of a man and compelled him to continue this unjust ritual, each night she would be nicely dressed, her hair done up with thick curls, and kicked to the curb under the warmth of a street lamp and huddled deep in a coat of linx fur that smelt of cigarettes.
These nights were the longest, and the worst, to be taken as a street walker by the lustful men to pay for her freedom that never came, to be bound and shackled to this invisible bond of "Where would I go.. I need to be here to simply live." And now, as the beating progressed heavy and bloodied as the angry fat man wailed on the young girl who now held her stomach in pain as a lump, a life, grew steadily within her. This was the night, sent out with new scars and the heavy coat, months...years within her lone buisness, she met a man who would be her saviour though he was never close to any God or Jesus, far from it he was Eddy Megwel.
Eddy was a handsome man, far from any rich man, a penny wasn't even held to the seams of his pants, out on the late streets he never thought to of taken interest in any hooker or prostitue, his wallet simply couldnt pay for it was all. The leather of worn down boots triped the pavments of this night, arms wraped up infront of his chest to block out the chilled air that plastered his stained V-neck to his thick body. Natasha, fourteen as of a few weeks ago, caught the man's attention and as instinct fallowed, she loosend up the fur coat to expose her tight apperal. "Ma'am...You'll catch a cold if you don't keep you're clothes on." He laughed, the breath clouded his lips as Natasha stared in puzzelment, sure she got turned down a bit, but never did anyone seem concerned for her health. The young man with his slicked back black hair couldnt help but notice her stomach, as it rounded to the belly button. With that concern that was all Eddy needed to take her in, Natasha's owner soon forgot and simply replaced her, the sick ritual repeated with another ripe aged twelve year old girl.
Natasha was fed to health with whatever Eddy could come up with later in the week as he motivated himself to get a job as a construction worker, seemed fitting for him, he had the mustle for it. She never asked him for much, and in respect he never lay a hand on her, never even a glance that would have her feel uncomfotable. A few weeks past as Natasha became close to birth, Eddy made sure she had a comfortable place to rest and when the time came, he would deliver the new life himself. He wasn't the father, but he sure acted like it, he held the young blonde girl in his arms warmly and fed her daily, he took as much of a role in Amy's first few months as he could, until he fell deathly ill. Amy E. O'dwell would never know her father, nor will she remimber the struggles the broken 'family' went through with the first year, nor will she remimber the barial, but she will always remimber the name Eddy Megwel and how her mother would whisper his name each night before falling asleep fallowed by a simple 'thank you.' with a smile.
Natasha awoke to find her knees locked and legs asleep, dried tears down her cheeks that she quickly scrubed away as she looked up at her young daughter, bed ridden and in a coma.
