Dear Diary,
I swear there are cycles in
pop culture.. The giants who rule our
collective consciousness run out of ideas from time to time and try to sneak
old ideas into the mainstream as new ones. And
corporate culture keeps its secrets well, but does not keep
public records, so we notice these resurgences and can feel nothing more tangible than overwhelming
deja vu.
It was like a ghost kissing me on the lips. Children don't come here. It was
inexplicable.
I should start at the beginning..
I lost an
earring in one of the upper rooms last night.
Wealthy client, but not quite wealthy enough for the
penthouse. I don't work in the penthouse, anyway. Not yet. It's
high profile, noticable. You have to be
21 to work the penthouse. It was about four, nice
evening, and I went back up while the
maids were cleaning. Before the
seraglio was as big as it is, these were the
girls' quarters. When I first came here, we lived and ate here, most of us
half-starved and high and scared. We've all cleaned up since then, or died, or been
thrown out. Not me.
I know how to take care of myself. This is a good job, safe, nearly
respectable.. I'll keep it as long as I can.
The earring wasn't on the bed, or the floor, or the nightstand. One of the maids yelled at me, because Chloe was coming up with a customer, and told me to hurry up. I was looking
underneath the bed. And there was a bump in the rug, against the wall. Too large to be my earring, but
incongruous and it caught my attention. I reached under the rug and pulled out a tiny plastic
doll, a cheap, two inch
Barbie with
plastic clothing. And it hit me, the sense of being here before.
Her
synthetic blond hair was matted, sticking out at a bizarre angle. I tried to push it down, but it refused to stay. And her
smooth candy brown skin was dirty, covered with stains I couldn't wipe away. Some of the paint had chipped from the
features of her face. She bore the mark of the hamburger gods, the
empire of epicurean complacency.
And then the maid was yelling again that Chloe was coming up the stairs with her
customer, so I pocketed the
toy and left the room.
I found my earring in the
lost and found.
..
Dear Diary,
I saw a picture today, from
a long time ago, of the girls.
Divinity is leaving, because she's too old and no one will pay, so we threw her a
party, in secret. We couldn't get alcohol, so we got
glue. And she showed us her pictures.
There was a little girl, no older than
thirteen. Dirty and skinny with dim,
feral eyes. Emerging from the top of her fist I could just make out the grimy blond plastic hair, and the
purple heels on once smooth legs poking out the bottom.
I wonder who she was. I have her doll.
I looked in the mirror, and we could have been
sisters. Our features are similar, though I have a difficult time remembering exactly what I looked like before
I got my face fixed. They didn't do much. Cheekbones, nose, lips, similar. Same color eyes. And her hair would be nearly the same color as mine, if it were
clean. I'd have to be the
older sister.. Or maybe not. I'm not sure how old I am. I still get the
pedophiles, so not too old. But she looked like a
kid, and I don't. Not my eyes, at least, unless I'm
working.
She's probably
dead now, or gone.
Children don't last here.