The slave of Alvarez

Shadows of the Past I grew up in a world where darkness crept into every intersection. My childhood was a blur of cries, tears, and the constant fume of liquor. My father, once a loving and caring man, had become a monster overnight, depleted by his obsession with gambling and drinking. I remember the first time I saw my father beat my mother. I was just six years old, and the force with which he hit my mother still echoes in my mind. My mother, Maria, was a strong woman, but my father's abuse had taken its toll. She was a shadow of her former self, always walking on eggshells, trying to raise us with the little they had and trying to save up for our future, never knowing when my father's temper would strike again. As the years passed, my father's obsession with betting and drinking only worsened. He would spend hours at the local casino, losing money that we didn't have. And whenever he lost, which was always hell, he drank to his content. My mother labored tirelessly to make ends meet, selling food on the streets, working as a cleaner in a local restaurant, and taking in sewing jobs, but it was never enough. My father's deficits piled up, and the threats from the loan sharks kept on growing. I tried to stay out of the way, hiding in my room or escaping into the world of music. Not like I listened to music, I had a beautiful voice, and singing was my consolation, my escape from the chaos that enclosed me. But even music couldn't save me from the reality of our condition. One night, I was woken up by the sound of my father's screams. He was drunk, as usual, but this time, he was agitated. "I've lost everything, Maria!" he yelled. "I've lost the house, the money, I even lost my drink, everything!" You are all a burden on me. You can’t even, all you know how to do is to be stupid and useless. " You and your useless children. " You couldn't have boys that would work and earn me money. " You gave birth to girls…mere girls, all they know how to do is nothing… absolutely nothing, only to bring shame to my name and apply lip gloss. " I can't wait to marry them off and get good money,” he kept on lamenting. My mother tried to calm him down, but he was beyond justification. He staggered out of the house, leaving us to think about what he had done this time. We woke up the next morning to a hard bang on our door. My mother went to open the door while I quietly watched from a distance. It was a man I had never seen before. He was short, but he looked influential. He barged in with a frowny look on his face. "Your husband has not paid me money," he growled. A lot of money. And if he doesn't pay up, there will be consequences. I’ll ensure I throw you out of your houses and into the streets.” My mother tried to reason with him, “I'm sorry sir, please just give me a month, I'll arrange for your money, I beg you,” she pleaded. But he just laughed. "You think you can pay off your husband's debts? Do you think you can help him? " You're just a foolish woman, living in your world, but I’m a merciful man, and I’ll give you two weeks to repay my debt, or else," he said as he stormed out. I watched as my mother broke down in tears. I expected that, she must have felt helpless. I would know because It was a look I had seen many times before. The man left, but the threat kept ringing in our heads. My father's debts had finally caught up with us, and I knew that our lives would never be the same again. My mum has changed her hiding place so he can't get money from her, and he's borrowing money to gamble. As the days passed, the threats grew worse. Men would come to the house, demanding their pending payment, and threatening to burn our house if we didn't give in. My mum tried to keep us safe, but I knew that she was scared, too. Eventually, she gave all she had to clear some of the debts, and we were left with more debt and nothing. And then, one night, my father staggered back home, his eyes wild with misery. "I've found a way out," he shouted. "I've found a way to pay off the debts." I knew that look, that tone. The same tone he had used when he had hit my mother when he had lost control. I could easily tell that he was under the influence of alcohol again and this time he must have drunk in a stupor. All these thoughts roamed through my mind until he yelled my name. "Yes father," I answered, my voice shaking. He glared at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and computation. "I've sold you, Alicia," he said, his voice cold. "I've sold you to Mr Sanchez". " He'll take you away, and you'll work for him, and most especially he he'll pay off the debts," he said as he sat on the floor. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. Sold? What did he mean? I was only 16 years old. I was still a child. It must be a joke. He has joked about this numerous times but he always said she was going to sell me. He never said he had sold me, and she looked serious this time. Tears gathered around my eyes as all these thoughts raced into my head. But my father just laughed, a cold, wicked, brutal laugh. "You're not a child anymore, Alicia," he said. "You're like an item, a piece of my belongings that I had to sell." And I've sold you to the highest bidder."