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| Photo Credit Roberto Nickson@unsplash.com |
Anyone looking in from the outside would call her life paradise, but she knew better. She was a slave. Not in the traditional sense, but a slave nonetheless.
She had started young. It all seemed so innocent at the time. She was only sixteen when the first gifts came. Gifts from admirers. Male, of course.
By the time she was eighteen the gifts had gone from cute outfits and little trinkets to designer clothes and expensive jewelry.
At twenty-one, she finished her studies and graduated with a useless degree. It was the one thing her parents had insisted on.
Her first apartment was a walk-up in a funky, fun neighborhood. Another gift.
Things moved quickly after that. By twenty-five she was ensconced in a high rise in Italy overlooking the city. Floor to ceiling windows gave her and endless view of the sea.
If she wanted something, needed or not, all she had to do was ask.
She wasn't locked in, in fact, she had her own Ferrari. A gorgeous red convertible. She often took it out for drives.
But she always came back. She knew no other life. She was bought and paid for.
A slave.
Good one :)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Paula.
DeleteThis is a very descriptive story, good work.
ReplyDeleteAppreciate it, Jim.
DeleteWell penned! :)
ReplyDelete