The Maid's Nightmare

Nightmares don't always happen when you're sleeping. Sometimes they play out right in front of you in broad daylight. They intrude on your reality and stomp on your day.

That was my day. I was stuck in a recurring nightmare that just wouldn't go away.

I remember every detail. His black jacket over that ridiculous neon-green button-up shirt. Her blazing red hair curled into Shirley Temple ringlets. My feeling of shame at the dirty hem of my old, patched skirt.

She was sizing me up as if I was a piece of meat. I might as well have been. She was wearing a coat of white fox fur. I was wearing rags and standing on an auction block.

She must have decided she wanted me. She nodded to my old master, who eagerly counted out the wad of cash she handed him, her nails painted a deep crimson. I envisioned them as the bloody talons of some huge bird of prey snatching my life from me. Again.

I had been fine where I was. Maybe not happy. Who would be when they have to work 18 hours a day to keep a mansion clean? But I was content. At least until I caught the master's daughter in the closet with the Henderson boy. Then I was suddenly accused of stealing her ring. The one she had given to that boy. And that was it.

I think my master knew. But still, he sent me away. He'd rather think me a thief than his little angel a slut and a liar.

So here I am, at the mercy of a woman who looks at me the same way the master's daughter did.

How can I be happy now?