The Collateral

The beginning

I was silent throughout the whole process. My dad had threatened. So I had no choice. The tall man  with tousled hair and side burns seized me from my dad. They looked at each other in the eyes, an unspoken agreement went on. And just like that, my dad left. I was tossed into the trunk and driven of to my new home. Not exactly a home, but that's where I would be staying until my dad returns the money he borrowed.

   Now you might be wondering how this all came about. My mom and dad always had arguments and one day after school, she left. The only thing she left behind was a note on the fridge telling me not to worry. My dad was broken hearted. But soon, he seemed to have healed. Going out on dates with whores who were just in for his money and nothing else. Soon enough, he squandered all his savings, the bitches left him and he was drowning I'm debt. He sold our house and we moved to the cheaper side of town. Later he developed a gambling habit. Sometimes he won and at times he lost. But his loses outweighed his gains. He had to engage in a deal with some shady people. They gave him the money he needed and a deadline. My dad wasn't able to meet it and well, that leads me to where I am today; in the trunk of a Toyota Camry being driven to prison.

   Before I knew it, the vehicle came to a halt. I heard the stomping of heavy boots and then, the trunk lid flung open. The man yanked me out of the car and literally dragged me into a mansion. Now I was too busy thinking of my new fate to look at the building. Before long, we got to what I thought of as the living room. He lead me to a couch and dropped me.

   "This is where you would be sleeping." , he said. "My son would show you how to use the stuff around here. And also where you would be working".

Saying this, he just left the house leaving me alone. I was agape as I stared around. This place cost a fortune.It was a grand living room, with high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings and frescoes from bygone eras. On one wall, a stunning mural depicts a medieval battle scene, with knights in shining armor on horseback clashing swords. On another, an Egyptian pharaoh presides over a lavish banquet, surrounded by courtiers and servants. The floor is paved with luxurious marble tiles, and the furniture is ornate and opulent, with plush velvet sofas and armchairs encrusted with gold leaf and studded with gems. This man had a good taste for art. Maybe this place might not be so bad after all. At least we have one thing in common.
 
    Just then, the door opened. There stood a young fellow. He was garbed in a blue button-down shirt and black trousers. He had a beanie on and his eyes held a dead expression.
  
    He fixed his gaze on me for a few seconds and then looked away. Then, just like that, he left.  I huffed. Rich people are weird.