Dear Boss

Dear Boss: Poverty (Prologue)

Poverty: 

-noun 

The state or condition of having little or no money, goods, or means of support; condition of being poor; indigence

Poverty, a formal term of the noun Whitechapel. Whitechapel can also mean alcohol, drugs, and us; we are the ones making ends meet in any way we can.

When you get taught about the Victorians at school, you learn that people lived on streets or sometimes thirty to a house, so I'm told. I was also told that History was a lesson where you learned about the past, when infact I live in that Victorian era.

The year is 2010; the day is Wednesday, and the month is Octobor. Anything else you ask me will be useless, because I never went to school; not even for a day.

London has become a divided city over the years; the rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer. Soon all that's left will be estates and palaces built on dirty alleys filled with people, perfectly camoflaged to fit in with the streets.

If you haven't guessed already, I fit into the poor people section of society, being looked down on by people that have legal jobs or a bedroom to themselves. And like every other desperate person living in Whitechapel, I hated it. People believe that they can judge you because you look scruffy or you live with fifty other people, when infact it's wrong; no matter what situation you may find yourself in.

But the thing that ticks me off the most, is when a man can treat you like dirt one minute, and then have sex with you the next. Respect for the proffession I say; well, I think, I need to make money somehow.

If you're as stupid as I am, you'll need me to explain the situation some more. My name is Mary Jane Kelly and I am what the rich people call a prostitute.

I hate my job, it's all about the rich taking advantage of those who didnt't get the right opportunity in life. It's terrifingly sickening even to think about.

So now I'll tell you the real reason why I am writing this. It's because there's a ripper on the loose, and he's out to get me and the rest of this sodden town.

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Hola, this is the prologue for my new story Dear Boss. It is based upon the events of the 1888 Whitechapel murders. I'm studying this in history right now and it has really inspired me to write something, but this story is set in modern day England.

I've tried to base it on fact, because I think that it will work better. Like for example, Francis Tumblety, one of the suspects, was an American doctor that was known for selling acne cream. And you'll have to wait to find out where that fits in.

But MOST IMPORTANTLY please vote if you like it and comment; tell me what you liked or even give me some critism. I NEED CRITISM SO BADLY! ( ' ▽ ' )