the hotel

The Hotel

Sonja stood a good distance as she watched the large metal ball as it swung and hit the brick facade of the old hotel. Seemingly defiant, only a few bricks budged and fell and the same thing happened at the second hit. The third time, however, the structure just crumbled to the ground, all of its broken concrete and distorted metal and broken glass reduced to one great heap of rubble. It took a mere fifteen minutes.

The workers erected a makeshift fence around the rubble, and posted a NO TRESSPASSING sign. When everyone else had left, Sonja walked towards the fence and stared at the remains. She bent down to pick up an errant red brick and threw it down the heap.

She was glad the hotel's gone. She was relieved at its demise.

Twenty-five years ago, her dreams ended inside that hotel. Twenty-five years ago, Armand left her because of what happened at the hotel. Twenty-five years ago, five young men, sons of rich businessmen and high profile politicians, took away her dignity, her life, her dreams, her love. They did it in that hotel. They tried to bribe the workers, the police, everyone. But Sonja stood her ground. She fought the giants in order to obtain justice, as her beautiful face appeared in the newspapers the common folks rallied around her. And the powers that be listened. Not one of the five was spared. Justice came and exacted payment for Sonja.

Ironic, it was. The families of the criminals paid her a handsomely sum. Now she is rich. But money could not buy back her youth, her innocence, her dreams, her love, her life. She was there when all five were placed on the electric chair, one by one. She watched them die, the same way they had watched while they took turns pillaging her body.

There was no forgiving in her heart. And yet there's no happiness either. The memories still lived in her mind, but she was glad the hotel's gone.