Forty minutes left. She stared at the big vanity mirror. Twirling her sequenced frame, hair flowing like waterfalls highlighting her almond eyes. Making sure the makeup is still intact despite the bombs liting up some of the skies. The show must go on.
“10 mins till we get this show on the road,” the stout manager exclaims.
As her routine, she weaves through the crowd of showgirls adorned with jewels. The poverty trap does come in handy for numbing a woman’s struggle in the city. Perhaps the night craves for mischief, making her stumble.
“Tch, watch yer heels, this is why a woman should just stick to cleaning,” the intoxicated soldier yaps.
All she could retaliate was a sigh. The men discarded their gold bands for their livestock, filling their cups with beer. Tobacco danced around the air along with the dancers in the twilight. The usual consumed orders are the marmalades down in the old Moulin Rouge.
Letting her cherry lips signal the encore, Siren was what they called her. Captivating, yet beauty hides a lethal strength. A woman exists to entertain. A woman’s asset is to be pretty like a doll, a common ode at her time. Entertain she shall. Her song spreads like a buffet. Bon appétit she sang. Tempting listeners to have an appetite for her seduction. Their eyes full of lust blinds them to what awaits them in the deep quarters of the bar.
By taking a sip of the lady marmalades in bed they surrender their life and pockets as collateral. The dancers always had eyes burning in rage that are always fresh out the oven. As the show’s climax reaches, the wooden floors turn a bright shade of cherry. The dancers leave the quarters after the Siren's song. They sent the men away, leaving joyful widows. Whilst the gold bands and coins have settled a new home in the entertainers' pocket.
Ending the show. The sun started to shine, and the seats were empty. Putting away the spiked drinks. Erasing the crime scene and flipping the closed sign. The Moulin Rouge would be silent in dawn, but becomes a haven in the dark to the women to earn and "clean". The new group of bachelorettes thanks her for the liberating song. Cherry lips smirked knowing its best to leave it to a woman to clean the disgusting filth of misogyny.
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Written by: Nethaniah Jan Lim
Layout and Design by: Charles Ian Ramos
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