You know that scene in the movies where someone points a gun at someone else and there are

huge pauses in between conversations and after what feels like five long minutes the gun shoots and the person dies? Well, usually I laugh during those scenes because of how stupid I think the victim was for not running away or tackling the bad guy when they could have. Sister points the gun at me and I don't know why. I'm not running nor am I thrusting myself ahead to snatch the gun either. "I'm tired," she says, her voice hoarse. "Stop following me." Her eyes look tired; the frames she drew with that Kohl eyeliner she nicked from some other dancer's makeup bag reminds me a lot an old picture of our dead mother. It's some picture Pa took before Ma disappeared when she was 29 or something and it's the only thing I remember of her. In that picture, Ma has the same jet black hair and pink streaks when she was Sister's age. She also shared the same penchant for fake animal skin and fur. Ma had sallow skin and a bony frame; things I wish she didn't give us. Before Ma went away, she also left a bunch of money Pa never told us how she got. I think she got it from Mr. M, the owner of Lolita's Room. Because of Mr. M, Pa managed to pay our bills and rentthough it isn't much of a rent since we live up in the spare rooms anyway. And, really, it's always Sister and I who pay the rent. All Pa did was just to throw some Hot Pockets into the microwave in the kitchenette for us before our shows and then goes off to watch TV. He said he can't bear to see strangers undress his only daughters with their eyes. Pa lied. I saw him in the crowd once, watching Sister take off her panties. Sister is breathing loudly, her breaths hard and short. The gun's still pretty still. I can see how round and dark the hole of the gun is. I imagine that once she pulls the trigger, there'll be a loud bang and I'll get sucked into that black hole and maybe, just maybe, I'll get to see Ma again; and then I'll know she's real. I start to breath like Sister now. I breathe about as fast as my heart skips. I didn't think I could actually feel more nervous than a few hours ago when we're both due on stage. Or rather, when I was due on stage. I usually have no trouble licking Mr. M's black penis but tonight I had to do it in front of everyone else.

Nobody told me that I was supposed to perform my first show already. Then again, nobody tells me anything. I just do it anyway. I remember hearing Mr. M's fluid voice gently tie a thick strip of cotton around my head. My chained hands followed someone's tug. The plush velvet floor thudded louder and louder until it sounded like hollow wood that creaked every other plank. Someone yanked my chain and I fell onto my hard knees, my butt-cheeks further split by the silk string in their crevice. Sitting on my pale yellow calves, I felt the hard imprint of my sharp stiletto heels on my raw cheeks. I winced. My head hung to the rise of cheers and leers as the curtains ripped open to blazing spotlights. "I'm telling you for the last time." Sister's sweet voice is suddenly clear and frightful. It pulls me back to the gun. "Stay away from me." My eyes are crying to blink. I refuse to let my eyelids miss one detail of this unfolding enigma. Sister is wearing that ragged coat I remember seeing in Pa's closet. Wrapped tight in black mesh brassiere, loose garters, and ripped garish pink fishnets, we're both dressed the same for the 'Freak Twin Show' earlier tonight. It's a show Mr. M liked to give during the club's anniversary where two girls that are dressed and made-up the same way participate in public sado-masochism. I recognize the dull markings around Sister's uneven lips and my hand raise towards my own. Three minutes of forceful pushes against the tender muscles around my soft lips left them raw and sore. My mouth dripping wet, my tongue lapped up the thick acidic mucus around the prickly black groin. Seconds after Mr. M got off the stool and strode off the stage, I heard one of our regulars, Mr. D, yelling something in Norweigian very heartily. Sister, next to me, started yelling back in English, "she's no bigger of a cunt than your daughter is," and the next thing I knew the sound of heavy slaps hit my ears and then everyone was shouting and I was dragged back into the storeroom upstairs. I remember hearing Sister's uneven sobs in the pitch black. I don't remember how long I was asleep for. What I do remember is the rumbling snores of Pa and the unusual stillness of the hallway which the door broke as Sister's silhouette slipped through with a near click. I tried my best to hold my breath and silence the squeaky floorboards but the moment I reached the staircase, an onyx bob of pink streaks flashed in the dim nightlight below

before disappearing through the club's kitchen exit door. We ran out to the dimly lit hallway of the abandoned apartment complex and Sister turned her head around. Stop following me, she said. Go back to bed. I said no, I'm going with you and then she came to a halt and reached down her thigh and swept around with a 9mm pistol inches away from my right eyeball. I shut my eyes. Nothing makes sense anymore. "At least tell me what's going on." She says nothing. My throat clumps up as I whisper. "You're still my sister..." I look at my dirt-brown feet, wishing the ground to pull them straight down to Hell. It doesn't. Instead, it cracks grey on my smooth virgin skin. "Pa's selling me to Mr. M." My head snaps up. The gun's no longer in my eye and my sister is now looking at me. "Dr. Chin told him I couldn't make babies. Pa never told me until tonight." My mouth opens without a sound. I stop breathing. "I'm sorry, I never knew" "Without me around, you'll be safe. They'll be busy looking for me," she says, "and that will buy you at least a week to plan your escape." I stare at her blankly. "But I want to come with you" "No!" She shouts. Her gun swipes back to eye level. "Stay away from me, you understand? I can't take care of you forever!" My eyes widen. Sister has never raised her voice at me before. "Follow me and we're dead, you hear me?"

I nod. Sister's eyes remain hard. "Yes," she says, "so fuck off, little sister. I'm too young to be your Ma" Her voice breaks up. There is a long pause. "nor can I ever be a mum..." I gape. I let out a shaky breath. My mouth is dry with bitterness and I don't know how to tell her I hate her for leaving me alone in this raping madness. The night chill sweeps by and goosebumps rise in united protest but my body doesn't care anymore. Nobody does.

Sister doesn't blink. Throwing the gun aside, she turns around and runs. :=: You know that scene in the movies where someone points a gun at someone else and there are huge pauses in between conversations and after what feels like five long minutes the gun shoots and the person dies? Usually I laugh during those scenes because of how stupid I think the victim was for not running away or tackling the bad guy when they could have. Well, I no longer laugh because I think I could have done it better myself. I laugh because I don't know any better either.