Red Light Angel

I stood upon the junction between the alleys, red light glaring at my face as I watched the men and women pass me by.

Standing there, memories crawl back upon my head, like a reel that you don't want to look back at but you can't because the forward button is spoilt.

I remember when I first stood upon this place, the greasy stench and the women standing along side the streets. Mannequins, all of them, with an inviting welcome that was insincere and the young men that hawk them like wares for rent. Like renting a bike, telling you its the smoothest ride you could ever get.

I see past their advertisements, their offers of a good night. I look past the portrayed beauty of the streets and I see these angels in their eyes. Why would I call them angels? Why not? Does a profession distinct upon the character of a person, thus implementing that I should judge them by that. What absolute bullshit.

There's something about these angels that intrigue me. Who are you? Why are you here? Is there any reason or cause that you should be here right now?

Or are you just an illusion? A temporary image for the carnal desires of men with no such distinction over their desires. A fallen angel perhaps, redeeming yourselves and yet finding no gratification over the work that you do.

I took one by the hand that night and led her away from the red lights. We were in a room dim and empty, heavy with something I don't understand she begins to take her clothes off.

I told her to stop and I told her don't. She doesn't understand and grew afraid over the mysterious circumstances and I asked her, where was she before she found herself in this forsaken streets and alleys of illusion.

She told me of sandy beaches and palm trees. She told me of wooden boats and village men, pulling nets and fighting against the waves of the sea. She told me of an escape and a risk she took.

She broke into tears. She then told me she'd never look back because all that is left is an emptiness that no one could fill. I held her as she cried and she asked me why I had to know where she's from and why I brought back something that she never wanted to look back at.

It wasn't because I wanted to save her. I knew I couldn't. I just wanted to know.

I left her, telling her that the chapter she left behind is a memory embedded within her and that she should be proud of that. Mistakes done, mistakes come and gone. What's left is forward and perhaps, there is that place she left so many years ago in a new chapter where there shall be no shame, no illusion.

She smiled and I walked away, knowing that for these women, their dark chapters behind them could be as bright as their chapters ahead of them.

Fallen angels, clamoring back towards redemption.

I came to the Red Lights and I stood by their alleys. Angels turn their backs on me, over mistakes come and gone. The only thing ahead is the light that I always should continue to press on about.