Lost in a Dream
A sophistication of elegance met her standard for the wealthy side of society. Speech lessons paid dividends in sorting the responses of the rich and powerful. Every dime spent on attire beautified her from head to toe. Men adored her lavish taste and romanticized about nights fashioning her curves. She made good of her earnest efforts to remain a lady. She was a dreamer.
She taunted her looks around town for months on end—before she gained a reputation. No such reality defined her truths outside of the rumors spread by jealousy’s horrid affaires. One man stood out amongst the darkness of a most popular scene. Hollywood was now her chance for discovery.
In coercing his lustful desires upon her, she gave her affections to his hopeful regards for acquiring her loving acceptance. He had no chance in Hell to pursued her interests, as a sexual relationship with a creepy actor that scared her greatly. He held all the cards.
The darkness consumed her last memory, as the lights fell in his hotel room. Numb to his touches, as inside she cried out in rage. Pain overcome her whole psyche. The last thought to cross her mind was to speak up forcefully. She spoke in a fearful whisper,
“Stop.” He advanced himself within her aggressively. She pushed and kicked to fight against his strength. He hit her with a solid fist.
“Stop it, please,” she bawled obsessively.
He wrapped his large hands around her throat, squeezing and tightening his grasp. He took her last breath. She lie in a now silent peace, gone to a world of hope. Her life was the curiosity of a naïve youngster, barely grown, and lost far from a place once considered home. Traveling to Hollywood was a once delightful dream, but cost her everything once beautiful.
— R. E. Maynard