Hers To Take

“Fifty!”

“Fifty and half!”

“Fifty-five!”

For heaven’s sake I was being priced like a common commodity.

What sort of a father would have his daughter auctioned to raise money to pay up his debt?

Mine had got me auctioned, to raise some money for his debts to the casino, and he had merely invited me to his so-called birthday party, but the birthday party now turned into a sales game, to this very extent of having me auctioned.

I wanted to flee from the hall, but he had earlier asked me to stand there, on the podium, where everyone can see me, described me, my features, and what have you, and then made it clear that I would be given out to the highest bidder.

When on earth did, I become such an asset, that I would be sold off to the league of old gamblers and Italian mafias who had gathered in the hall, that celebrate the new age of my father who was heavily in debt.

Gosh!

I had my eyes on the doors.

I wished the light would go off, and if ever it would be that gracious, I would flee from the hall, and from the city, to wherever I was sure my father and his mafia cartel would never find me.

“Fifty-five and half!”

Is that my worth?

This was a big-time trafficking here.

Maybe we were probably back to the nineteenth century, where such trade was a common game. Maybe we were back in the days of Habbakuk and his harlot wife whom he bought with money when she strolled into the hands of the lords who got her auctioned.

“Fifty-seven!”

I knew the man who just yelled fifty-seven.

He had always had his eyes on me, but I don’t like him because he was fat, and he was same age with my father who got me auctioned.

Everyone turned to him. He seemed to be the highest bidder with the fifty-seven he yelled, but my father seemed not to be satisfied with the fifty-seven.

He needed more.

That little amount wouldn’t pay up his debt.

“Sixty!”

Another man from the back had his hand in the air.

Of all the bidders, he had bid the most, but he was old.

Yeah, I have my choices here.

If I was going to be given out to the highest bidder, then I pray to be given to a young person, not these old fellows who would have my life messed in their closets.

“There is a fixed price for her, but you guys are bidding below the fixed price.” My father said from his conner.

“What’s the fixed price?”

The fat guy seemed to be ready to take me home at all cost, but I kept imagining what life would be with that man as my master.

Life with him would be hell, but slaves have no choice when they are sold to a new master.