I need a change, I tell myself, lounging out on the large, white rock beneath the sun on my university campus. My life has become old and stagnant. It is grey, unending, unfeeling, just a long, dull patch of studying unceasingly, for as long as I shall live.

I can’t change, says another part of me. Change requires money, and you have none.And, besides, you’re so close to graduating. You can’t give up now.

Says who? I can give up whenever I want! And as far as money goes, don’t worry about it. I’ll get some.


Didn’t I read somewhere that a woman can make some good money selling her eggs? I’ll just do that – who needs them anyway!

You need a doctor for that, and it’ll probably require surgery.


It’ll really suck. And, besides, your family would probably protest.

Who cares if they do – they’re my eggs. I’ll sell them if I want.

And what if your eggs aren’t any good? Infertility is in your family, and nobody is going to spend money for defective eggs.

Okay, true. But I’m sure there’s something else I could sell… some other body part, maybe…

You don’t mean…

Oh, I mean.

Oh boy.


Your family certainly won’t agree with that.

They’ll never know! I’ll go away somewhere – change my name, maybe. Just get on a bus and get off at any random town. After all, I wanted a change, didn’t I?

You’ll miss your family. And what about your dog?

Missing my family and my dog requires emotions, and I most certainly won’t have any of those when I’m a whore with a heart of gold living in some random city.

You’d hate being a prostitute.

Shut up.

It’d be really dangerous.

I’ll stay clear of pimps and things like that. Besides, I wouldn’t do it for long. It would just be a way to pay off the motel that I’ll be living in until I can find another job. I’ll be a waitress or something.

You don’t know the first thing about prostituting yourself.

I’ve moved on. I’m a waitress now.

Okay, you’re a waitress, living on your own in some random city. I can’t imagine you’re making very much money through it – certainly not enough to buy yourself an apartment. You’ll probably have to stay in that filthy motel for a good, long time.

That’s part of the charm of this life! This hapless, bohemian existence that I’ve found myself in! And, besides, I’m a beautiful ex-prostitute with a heart of gold! Someone is bound to fall in love with me sooner or later.

What if you’re not attracted to this someone? You’re very picky about who you date, you know. Oh, who am I kidding, you’ve already committed to being a prostitute here.

This someone will be a good-intentioned, kind-hearted man or woman. They’ll see me when I’m at my lowest (probably cleaning the floors or something, with dirt on my otherwise perfectly make-upped face), and they’ll know that they just have to help me. They’ll pick me up, take me in, pay off all my debts. They don’t have to be rich or anything like that – just capable of getting me out of that filthy motel.

That’s a lot of variables to consider. Chances are, in this scenario, you never even would have stopped being a prostitute. You’d have wound up in some terrible cycle of abuse, falling deeper and deeper until you drown.

I’ll figure it out.

Okay, then let’s say you do. Everything works out exactly as you have planned. And then what? What about when you’re forty, looking back on your life and seeing someone who dropped out of university when she was so close to getting her degree? Someone who gave up on her dreams because she was too busy struggling just to stay alive? Someone who married the first person who came along, not because you were in love with them, but because you needed to get out of that filthy hotel? I’ll bet you’d wish that you could go back to this moment – that you could just tough it out a little bit longer, until things naturally change in their own way. After all, you’re graduating soon. You’ll get your change then.

It’s a fantasy. It doesn’t need to be logical.

It’s a terrible fantasy.

Okay, it is.

No, I think, pulling myself up off the rock to head back toward my dorm. I do need my change, but it’ll come soon. Until then, I just have to keep moving forward, keep refusing to give up.

Published by Ciara Hall