Author's Note: We're back to France again. I haven't dived into the countries' past lives in quite some time now. I think I will have to change that in the near future. I like how this match turned out. If you have been following along with Death and All of His Friends or any of the other Fallen City series, you might notice a special guest in this past life. This could open the doors for more. I am coming along with the Christmas specials. I know that I can do them. I pulled it off for Halloween, I can do it for Christmas. I don't know what I am doing next week though. For now, enjoy this week's match.
Match Twenty-Four: Enfer:
Francis doesn't like the fog. He wishes it would go away. You would think that would be the worst thing to happen to his country. But more of his neighbors are starting to go missing. The streets of Paris are covered in missing posters. Many are wondering who is going to go next. He's heard the rumors and stories. Part of him wished that they weren't true. His nightmares were telling him otherwise.
He was on the streets again. Francis always looked so skinny in these dreams. He stared at himself in a shop mirror. Hot pants and a crop top. It didn't help that he looked so feminine. The pimp wouldn't let him cut his hair. His thin frame made him look even more like a girl.
Young Francis shivered. He wished that he had a coat tonight. The pimp shoved him out the door without a word. So now, he had to walk the streets. He wished that he would be in a hotel. It's so cold out here on these nights. Still, he had to make some money tonight. His pimp had been rather disappointed in him lately.
"What's the matter with you, boy?" he asked. "Get out there and make me some money!" The sex worker tried to argue with him but the older man wouldn't hear it. The pimp slapped the young man in the face. Young Francis had no choice but to keep trying. That night was going to be no different. This time, the pimp added a little extra.
"Time of this as a little motivation," he whispered in the young man's ear. Francis looked down at his pants. The cage felt uncomfortable against his skin. This was going to be an experiment. Why did he have to choose to do this tonight? Francis was going to have to find a client soon or else…
But he wasn't alone tonight.
He's seen her around before. She used to work the streets before she was moved up the ranks. In fact, he saw her near the exits in underground clubs. He couldn't forget that blue dress if he tried. What was her name again? Francis could see her face. Well, some of it at least. He knows that they have talked before. Maybe they were friends? They had to be, right?
He walked over to her. She had her back to him. The young man walked closer. He reached out to her shoulder as he got closer. Suddenly, the woman turned around. Francis froze. The woman perked up when she saw him.
"Oh, hey you," she said. "Are you on the streets again?" The young man lowered his head.
"Yeah," he said. He looked up to see the pity in her eyes.
"Please… don't," the young male sex worker said. She always understood.
"I'm sorry," she said. Her fellow prostitute cleared his throat.
"Are you going home tonight?" Francis asked.
"Yes," she said. She tried to sound happy, but her voice was so hollow. Francis could understand how she felt.
"Look," she said. "I can stay with you for a little bit." Francis felt something stir in his freezing heart.
"Thank you so much," he said in a weak voice.
They've known each other for close to a year now. He met her at the same club where they were looking for clients. Even then, his pimp made him look like a woman. Francis had gotten better with walking in heels. He started to miss home. The young man couldn't understand why he couldn't leave. Papa promised him he could leave if he did a good job. But now that wasn't looking like a possibility. Papa saw to that himself.
Francis remembered the first time he saw her standing alone near the exit. That place smelled of cigarette smoke. How could a hallway be so red under the dim lighting? Francis couldn't remember a night when that hallway was silent. The walls were painted brick while the floor was tiled a faint green and yellow. The empty space made it perfect to pick up "dates". Just you, the fire extinguisher, and the only exit.
Papa sent him down here one night.
"You have to make a good impression at the bottom," he said. "Don't disappoint me." He smacked the new boy on the ass. Francis winced and walked into the club.
His mind blocks out most of that night. It's natural in his situation. He blocked out most of those memories until his first death. But there was a little bit of novocaine that night.
She was leaning against that wall, waiting. Francis had a guess as to why a pretty young thing would be down here in the hallway. She turned her head when she heard him getting closer. The young man froze. Neither one dared to move or speak at first. She smiled at him but it wasn't a real smile. This life already made her hollow.
"They all start to look the same, you know?" she asked.
"Excuse me?" Francis asked. She looked like she had too much to drink already.
"When you do this long enough, they all start to look the same," she said. "You will get numb to all of it. It won't end, you know? They will just work you until you are all used up. All you can do is get used to it. Once that happens, you will be numb to it all. After that, you are dead inside."
The Frenchman could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as he put his hand to his chest.
"It didn't kill me but something in me died that day," Francis said to himself in this life. Suddenly, he froze when he heard his door buzzer buzzing. The Frenchman turned with a confused look on his face.
"Who is that?" he asked himself.