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The End Of Fosters Part 1
By : Wendell Urth
Category: +1 through F > Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends
Views: 2535 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Foster’s Home For Imaginary Friends and all associated or other characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story. - Chapter List
Epilogue: First Dream
Fran awoke, stretched and looked out of the dirty window to the muddy street below. She watched as drovers whipped their skinny tired horses pulling overloaded wagons past the saloons and whorehouses. Sometimes she felt like one of those horses, endlessly struggling through the mud under the biting lash of drunken men.
Trix came running into her room with Fran’s dress which she had just finished stitching the shoulder seam, torn last night. Trix was an excellent seamstress and if her skills were appreciated, should have gotten a job in one of the Main Street dress shops… or at least at a better class of whorehouse. But Trix was half Cherokee and so was here… with Frankie.
This wasn’t the worst whorehouse in town… the worst one was a few buildings further down the muddy street. This was a place of comfort for tired old men and cowboys who were not yet completely down on their luck, unable to afford the better, classier places up the road… but not so down on their luck they had to settle for the last house on the street.
Fran hadn’t started here, but this is where she ended up.
As her looks faded and alcohol took its toll, she’d continue her slide down that muddy street to that last whorehouse. Where instead of this tiny bedroom, she’d share a cot in a room with a half dozen other whores behind screens taking man after man, stopping only to occasionally wash, eat and drink before the next shift. Or maybe not wash at all.
Beyond that was the town graveyard. She could see it from her window.
Fran was the youngest whore in the house. Still the prettiest which caused some resentment among the other girls… women… whores. Many had started their “careers” further uptown as Fran had in better houses, but age and drink were inevitable. They slid down here and hoped to stay for a while. But few slid as fast as Fran.
Women’s voices.
“Thinks she’s better’n us!”
“Redheads are bad luck!”
“Shit, you got read hair, stupid”
“Out of a bottle, that don't count! Them natural gingers are witches, I tell ya…”
Man’s voice”
“Witches or bitches, I don’t care. Just get yer fat asses into the parlor, we got customers comin’!
Fran heard the voices, these walls were just thin boards. Ten tiny bedrooms, five on each side of the staircase. She pulled on her stockings, careful of the stitches Trix had sewn in the night before. She powdered her face. The yellow bruise over her left eye had nearly faded, finally! Friday nights always led to fights as men were paid, drinks were brought, bottles were broken and whores took their lumps for no good reason.
This was Fran’s life now, there was no escape. She had no family to take her in, not that any decent family would have someone who had spent almost nine years as a prostitute. Some lucky women ended up with husbands they met here. It was rare and most of these women ended back in a whorehouse after a few years anyway. Those with any self-respect found a house in another town where they weren’t known.
The former owner of this particular house was an ex-madame herself, it was named after her… Of course, it was now owned and run by men. Only her name remained on the brightly painted sign out front…
“Fran! Get your damn bony ass out here!”
Fran hurried down the steps. There was the usual collection of drovers, cowboys and men. The current Madame pulled her aside. She had been selected.
“It’s a double but at triple rates. You keep half the tips.”
Fran sighed dramatically. She didn’t like doing doubles but its not like she had a choice. She looked around the parlor trying to see which men were together and her eyes went wide.
“Shit, not them!” she prayed.
End of Part 1:
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