Kathleen entered the room. A sense of dread is now pervading her thoughts. Finally, when M,aster Carl looks at her, there is no real recognition, just a look of loathing. Immediately, she is lost. Time stalls. Afraid to comment she waits for an answer, anything remotely resembling clarification.
He says she needs to go, that she is a slave with no alternatives, no expectations, just a tired look of contempt. She takes what little she has. Penniless and jaded, she walks the streets, head down from conditioning, a caldera of loneliness.
Her social deficits and homelessness weigh heavily upon her mind. At a loss, she sees herself as a peripheral player, as a person acclimated to punishment prostituted and jeered at, at sex parties, as Carl looks at her derisively. Suddenly she realizes that she is broken to the point where she feels like a dumpster. Human but only marginally so.
One alternative and only one, with no person to talk to. Bubbles swell in a dead pool, of foolish expectations, convinced her man in black, is a fraud. This she floats in a river going nowhere. Marked with lashes and the taste of cum, her fate was scripted, from the start.