1/17/11

A Common Whore
By Laurie Knox


Most girls were married off by their teens, so at thirty-eight she had not expected a suitor. Ali had changed everything.

As the soil reached her shins, she thought of Ali; of the first time they had met. He had charmed her with compliments; aroused desires she had long forgotten. Salacious longings they tried to educate away from her came flooding back. Don’t be so foolish, she told herself. Those feelings are for little girls and prostitutes. That trail of thought was neither true, nor helpful. Such awareness may have saved her.

Ali had met her a second time at the shop she worked in. He did not disguise it as coincidence. He was too confident for that. He stayed for over an hour.

The third time they met was a week later; after she had finished work. She pulled down the shutters and secured a padlock for safety. Walking to her home, she was startled to see a figure leaning against a palm tree in the dark. She thought of turning back, but was relieved and angry to see Ali’s grinning face.

“You’ll get us in trouble,” she said. “You can’t do this.”

“Let me drive you home,” he said. “I have a car.”

“I can’t.”

“You can,” he said, grabbing her wrist. She tried to wriggle free. He opened the car door and let go of her arm. She looked both ways and got into the car.

They drove in silence, until Nazahah spoke. “My house was that way,” she said. Ali remained silent.



The soil was up to her waist now. If she was a man they would stop here, but they needed to cover her breasts. The blazing sun made her feel giddier than before. The taunts and abuse made her feel dirty. She had promised herself that she would not cry. She started to fail.



Ali parked the car in a dark place. “No-one can see us,” he said as he started to kiss her.

Nazahah sat there motionless with fear. She had neither the experience nor the bravery to go through with this. Ali stopped and whispered in her ear. He promised her marriage, love and children; anything to take away the fear; everything he knew she wanted to hear. Every whispered word saw a break in her defences. He peppered her with intelligent, powerful blows until her hands dropped to her sides. The contest was over; there was no resistance. This time they both embraced with the vivacity of lovers.

And then came the knock at the window; the screams; the pulled hair; the twisted arms; the handcuffs; the police cars. “You like your men married, huh?” they screamed as the car sped through the streets. “Whore! Adulterer!” She was scared and speechless. All she had wanted was to end the loneliness in a way that pleased her god. Her wish would soon be realised.



Only her head and shoulders remained above ground. A white cloth was placed over the parts of her that remained visible. Formal announcements were made as she waited for the end. Jeers came from all around her. Men, women, girls and boys all joined to mock her passing. How dare this loathsome whore ridicule our religion! Her selfish desire for love was nothing compared to society’s need for anger.

The first of the rocks caught her by surprise. Three or four more bounced off her, causing her to tread the tightrope of consciousness. With the first big hit, she passed out; never to be revived. The crowd cheered with each big shot that turned the cloth red. Each drop of blood that oozed out of her darkened the fabric to the delight of the crowd. They were intent on using her blood to cleanse her of her whorish ways.


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Originally from Kent in England, he studied Economics at Southampton University before training as an accountant in London. Unhappy with the life of an office dweller, he moved to Seoul, Korea in 2007. He currently teaches English and spends his spare time exploring the Korean countryside.