Betty Grable Legs

Sacha Tillier limps out of the trailer. Her neck is stuck in gear and she cant seem to remember which one, high or low. Her back aches and she knows her child sized bed will only hold up so long. In the dark of last night the sounds had scared her but when the apparitions appeared she closed her eyes and said, yes I am home. God wants me here.
She tidied up her camp stove and made some coffee, cowboy style. Drinking her first cup o joe with her leg propped up on the ancient sawed off tree was her usual morning starting point and the sameness while routine, gave her hope. Hope she will find some way to escape this place. Hope she was young enough to find another lover. She had been looking for escape for the past ten years. Every hidey hole turned up empty. No key to be found.
Making the best of it was her motto. She turned her face to the sun and ran her hand quickly down her withered leg. Dammit, she thought, I used to be known far and wide for my Betty Grable legs and now not even my confused raggedy ghosts wanted to look at them. A deep sigh seeped out from her, but as she was determined to be ever hopeful, she dreamt of better days for herself. She need only find the key and she would be free.

The Limp

There were eleven in all, three women and eight men. They all seemed unrelated. Some were tall others not so. Different ages, some overweight. A cross section of what, I couldn’t figure. But here’s the thing, they all limped. I turned and started to walk away from them. I picked up my pace but they were gaining on me. Why couldn’t I walk faster? It was then that I reached the gate. I turned to look back. They were almost up to me and they asked in unison, “Why are you still limping?” Sweating I turned and opened the gate. That was when I woke. The pain in my leg … the pain.