You might have read and heard stories that starts with cliche like 'Once upon a time'. I wouldn't want to beat around the bush. Because my story is neither interesting nor important. It is nowhere near the story of the princess who kissed the frog. I am a prostitute, and this is the story of a girl who offers sex in exchange for payment.

Some call me Abbie, while others calls me the name of their mistress on bed. Many men call me 'hey, oye, ahem', while their women call me a bitch. I never know anything about the world or its people. I know about this town where I live, and my manager who fetches the clients.

The other girls in the mansion mentioned to me that I have a daughter. They also said that the manager has held her captive. To be honest, I don't remember if I have a kid. But if I did, it could be true because she is a terrific woman running this business on busy streets.

Every one of the girl you meet here has stories; the kind of storied you can't listen without squinting your eyes. We say we are here on our own will when cops asks us. We shouldn't be engaging them with any other reasons.

The truth buried deep within the heart, sometimes disappears without a trace too. Maybe, that's why, I don't remember why I'm here. After saying a lie for so many times, now I believe that it must be truth. I must be here on my own will.

I don't remember when and why I came here. Was I forced or taken away? Do I have past? Can I trace the old steps to find a family of my own? To a prostitute like me, there are no definitive questions like this. We don't have any past or future.

We basically wish to survive, so we don't live in the present too. The girls with me said I spoke two to three different languages when I came here. We didn't know the date or time today. So, they weren't to able to tell me when it happened too.

When I couldn't recall anything, they said that I have got dementia. I might as well get this disease, instead of HIV. Atleast this one has got a fancy term, isn't it?

Despite all the chaos around me, I know why I am here in this darkest room now. There are no windows or a spark of light. There is no piece of furniture, and so my body felt numb most of the time.

My hair smells horrible, and there might be blood gushing out of my teeth. The ground is always moist. There must be a leaky tap in the room. I didn't want to think of myself floating on my blood.

Occasionally men visit this room once or twice a day. I didn't bath for ages. Since I had lost track of time and place, you cannot expect bibliography in this story.

When I run my fingers through the body, it feels sticky due to gluey skin....