Living Strong

1037 Words5 Pages
As another bank statement slipped through under my brown antique door, my body filled with dread. I sat petrified at my desk as the never-ending replays of an unwanted memory, mindlessly crept back into consciousness. I drifted back to when I was twelve and in debt of two and a half thousand dollars with three days to return this sum. The terror of what would happen if failure prevailed saturated my mind. The familiar sound of her voice. The familiar sound of bones breaking. As I pondered over my dilemma, my mind turned to unacceptable ways like prostitution and drug dealing. Perhaps even suicide. Eventually, I reached the heartbreaking decision of pawning what few assets I had to a pawn shop. My trembling body staggered to the tattered phone book. As I scanned for the list of pawnshops, the page seemed to flip itself to the pawnbrokers section instantaneously. It lit up at me with "fast cash", "instant $", "TV’s, jewellery". It all seemed so easy. My heart started to ease and I felt some tension exit my body. It answered all my problems. And so I began. I began hauling everything that was worth anything. I took all my sentimentally valued jewellery, my beloved iPod, my cellular phone, my computer and my only form of transport, a bicycle and headed off to "Fast Cash loanz" in Onehunga one dark December evening. As I sauntered into the store, I had never felt more alone, more vulnerable in my life. I was here, in a pawnshop, doing something a twelve year old child should never have to do. I walked into this place, a world lit by laptop screens and high definition televisions; they stared back at me instead of the sun. My eyelids twitched as my eyes attempted to adjust to this surreal place. The items cradled protectively in m... ... middle of paper ..., the feathers were bloody and messed. She too, had to fight for the right to live. I stroked her wing gently as she gave a gentle coo before flying away. With the weight of the world weighing me down more than my possessions on my back and little less than 48 hours to the deadline, I prepared once again for the most demeaning, dignity-stripping experience of my life. Life is a game of cards, and some of the cards I was dealt with during my childhood were unbearable, but after being so low and lived life at the street level, the winds of change have started to blow, as I opened the bank statement, and let go a heavy sigh of relief as a pleasing amount in my balance stared back at me. No longer did I have a void in my heart that kept growing each time I sold a piece of my life a way. Scraping past starvation was no longer all I had to live for. I did not break.
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