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The Journals of Raymond Brooks 25
alms. My heart went out to him and I felt my own misery more
keenly. Tears welled up in my eyes and I forced myself to look

away, only to see a young maiden with a raven-black mop of
hair, green teeth, and a slightly swollen belly leaning against
a door dyed blue, offering whatever hidden wares she had to
offer. I wondered as to her wares, and why some people gazed
at her with disdain while others studied her as one would a
horse. Needless to say I did not realize the significance of the
blue-dyed door. I actually found myself leaning against a wall,
staring at her, until time and would-be clients made me reach
the simple conclusion that the wares she was selling were her

own body. I knew girls like that in my homeland too; they were
shunned by society who took no pity on them.
I hurried to get away from all the wretchedness, passing by a
larger house when a wooden sign, portraying a large drink-filled
mug, creaked on its hinges, and then a strange sound caught my
attention. In a ditch to the left of the house a man leaned down
and vomited, coughing and spitting. No one seemed to care, so

I too decided it best to leave him alone. I felt ever so sorry for
stepping foot in this town. My parents had died for nothing, I
realized. This place is no heaven, but an icy version of hell.
I wandered aimlessly through town, too proud to beg for
food and refusing to submit to the misery that surrounded me.
In a way, I saw myself as Aladdin, a young idle boy waiting for
his wizard to unknowingly fulfill his dreams. In the merchant’s
quarter I finally rested, too cold and weary to go on. I sat on a
barrel and watched the world go by, waiting for the dream to

end and for me to wake up back home. At some point I must
have fainted, for I woke up the next morning in a bed. A man
whom I recognized to be the smith from the merchant’s quarter
gave me a bowl of unidentified food. I thanked him gratefully