“Room 21” I repeated for the umpteenth time.

The receptionist wasn’t even paying attention.  His eyes were firmly stuck on my chest and his hands were fumbling for the keys I was requesting for.

I usually wear a bra but I accidentally dropped mine in a water closet full of piss as I tried to get a peek of the boy who was peeing a few steps away from my window’s penis; so I had to ditch the damn thing.

It wasn’t my fault that my nipples wouldn’t go jelly.

They were as erect as the Eiffel tower; they had a mind of their own, standing at attention even when they haven’t been told to. Besides, my breasts didn’t like being kept in captivity.


Dude was still fumbling for the keys, with his eyes on my chest!!! I rapped my nails impatiently on the counter. He was still looking at my chest…

“Hey! Satisfied?” I scowled as I lifted my t-shirt above my head, and slapped the keys out of his stupefied self staring at my boobs.

I climbed the spiral stairs and let myself into the room.

The room wasn’t much, the paint on the walls was peeling off and the ceiling was cracked. But it was cheap. I had left the house with just a handbag, 3 dresses, 2 t-shirts, one pair of black jeans and my now flushed bra. I forgot my panties and I hadn’t seen any decent ones to buy yet so for now I was allowing the air to flirt with my bottom.


I was tired and broken.

It had been 4 days since I left home; I was eating once a day, braless, broke and walking with a third eye at the back of my head.

And for what? A selfish dried out wanna-be stepmother who wanted to wear nothing but my mother’s diamond ring. I was going to have to die first before that happened.

It was enough that my dad had decided to be a douche and associate himself with a cheapskate. But she sure as hell was not going to wear my mother’s diamond ring.


The events of the past few weeks had triggered an unholy stew in me; a numbness backed with rage, an insatiable urge to smash my fist into someone’s face, an utter disrespect for the man who birthed me, an overwhelming feeling of hatred for the woman who wanted to replace my mother, and for God (if there was one) for taking my mother to a supposed better place. The only best place she belonged to was with her family, alive.


I peeled my jeans off and crawled into the bed as if there was a lonely lover waiting for me.

I traced my hands around my waist, feeling for my beads. I had borrowed an old gold necklace from my mother’s jewelry box and used the ring as a locket. The beads were keeping the necklace and ring company.


I didn’t know what I was going to do next or what I was going to eat in the next hour.

But for now, I was just content that my mother’s ring, hang centimeters away my Jerusalem’s gate……




7 responses to “V-ring

  1. You always manage to capture my wandering thoughts with your writing style. I hope to write with you sometime in the future…tyle. I hope to write with you sometime in the future…

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