The Price of a Life
725 Words
In the past, life was stressful too, and people often grumbled: “Love these days is so cheap—it can be bought with money.”
Back then, it was just bitter sarcasm about society. Now, in this era, it had become literal truth.
No one knew if this was progress or regression.
The woman’s girls all came from the wasteland zones—not trafficked, not kidn*pped. They came willingly. Their only goal: a steady meal.
None had Sixth District residency. Only marriage or buying a permit let them stay legally. Otherwise, after the deadline—legal deportation, clearance.
Sebastian circled the room ten minutes before stepping out to the woman. “Those two compatriot girls—family?”
“None,” she shook head instantly.
“You know what I do?” Sebastian frowned.
She paused.
“Don’t lie to others—don’t lie to me. Do they have family?”
She thought. “Ah—forgot. Yes, in the wasteland.”
“Then no,” Sebastian shook head. “Trouble later.”
“…Look at others.”
“That Belarusian girl—what’s her name?”
“Bella.” Woman thumbs-up. “Good eye, brother. One-seventy tall, pale skin, pretty. Stimulating at home.”
“Chinese okay?”
“Lived near the Sixth in wasteland—speaks local better than me. No problem.”
“Her then.” Sebastian nodded. “How much?”
“Eight thousand.”
Sebastian turned to leave.
Julian and Victor blinked, followed fast.
“Hey—little brother, bad temper?” Woman called. “Come back—ninety percent off.”
“Eight thousand—robbery?” Sebastian shouted back. “Can’t afford.”
“Wipe one thousand.” She chased, grabbed arm. “Brothers—no residency. Cost to bring in. Don’t cut too hard.”
“Three thousand.”
“Bullshit—three thousand buys a leg to play with.” Woman rolled eyes.
“Forget it.”
“Why always walking!” Woman panicked. “Lowest sixty-eight hundred. Fed them two-plus months.”
“I brought forty-five hundred,” Victor glared. “Deal—write receipt, take her. But if she runs after two days… don’t blame me shutting your business.”
“No—forty-five hundred impossible. Forty-five hundred buys someone like me.” Woman waved. “Go—lowest sixty-eight.”
Sebastian no haggle—turned with Julian and Victor, left yard.
Two minutes later, woman chased, panting. “Fine—you two fated. Forty-five hundred… friends. Come back, little brother…”
Sebastian haggled three times—deal struck. Bella heard every word inside.
…
Evening eight or nine.
Victor called black car. Four returned to Salt Lake City.
Street, Julian eyed dirty Bella, smiled at Sebastian. “Clean her up?”
“No money,” Sebastian shook. “Few friends dinner.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.” Sebastian thought. “Invite team too.”
“Good.” Victor exhausted, looked Bella, simple. “Money met you—but my brother good. He won’t wrong you. Care for him.”
Bella head low whole time, fingering hair. “I… know…”
“Fine—we go.” Victor nodded Sebastian.
They watched money-met man and woman leave.
Frosty street, Sebastian awkward ahead, heart pounding.
Long time, Bella called. “You… slow? Shoes broken… blister.”
Sebastian paused, turned, thought. “Piggyback? Close.”
Girl froze, grabbed his coat hem. “…I… hungry.”
Sebastian smiled. “Up—home eat.”
…
Victor vanished tonight—no usual crash request.
Julian home past eight. Planned boil water, cheap bite—but remembered lending thirteen hundred. Two hundred left for days. Quick wash—sleep.
Past nine.
Julian in bed—hearing Evelyn yell. “What you want? Believe I call police?!”
Julian coat on, window peek.
Evelyn below steps, pointing gate—three heavies in leather coats staggered in.
“Girl—you don’t know limits,” lead bald rubbed scalp, reached. “Camera.”
“Not here. Harass again—I call department.”
“You—” lead laughed. “Department? Marcus Vale my friend. Call—I wait.”
Evelyn froze.
Inside, Julian door hand—heard Marcus name, froze, brow tight.
Thud.
Fifteen-sixteen boy rushed inner yard, ragged cotton coat. “What—middle night yelling?”
- Writer
