The Prostitute and the Painter

"Wake up Olivia! I'm hungry!"

"Okay Khloe, I heard you." She replied to her best friend. They were living together downtown and they had met through prostitution. Today it was her turn to go do the groceries, She woke up and showered. Her hair color was usually white because of the wig she wore but her natural color hair was jet black which usually went well with her hazel eyes, but she always wore a wig because it was hard to remember the girl who had black hair anymore. The girl she buried deep down inside of her. She was dead to her.

This is who she was now and she had to accept that.

Being a prostitute was very draining, it isn't for the light-hearted. She usually woke up at twelve in the afternoon or later depending on what time she would get back but she was usually back by two in the morning latest. She didn't like going out for much longer than that, it was as if every day one would risk their lives just to survive, there were pimps and all sorts of horrors out there.

She had dropped out of school at the age of fifteen and she met Khloe who was twenty at the time. Now five years down the line as prostitutes she realized it was hard. She had no parents to look out for her as they had died that very year when she became a prostitute. She hadn't taken it so well back then. Her only means of escape from foster homes was this but little did she know this occupation was hell itself.

The worst torment was the thoughts that often plagued her, she couldn't afford to slip into depression. Yet she was on the verge of it.

She walks to Khloe's room "Money please."

"There on the dashboard Liv".

She takes the money and grins at her. "You are coming awfully later by the day Khlo."

"I know Liv but I need the money, so please let is slide just for once."

"Okay, Khlo but you look like shit."

She throws a pillow at her as she walks out and the door closes instantly. She puts on her shoes and earphones and she is out the door. She bumps into a guy,

"Sorry." He says but she doesn't respond and she carries on walking.

At the age of twenty-four Lucas had stark white hair and blue crystal eyes, he lived as a painter. He often walked down the streets to get some inspiration and fresh air, but also today he was walking to go see his friend Bernard, it had been a while and the place was really crowded downtown. He bumps into a white head girl,

"Sorry," he utters, but she just walks away without a word nor a second glance.