The Debt of Blood
The little bit of money I had scraped together, paid for with endless nights and cracked, bleeding hands, meant less to them than one of my brother's hobbies.
Brian sat nearby, playing video games. When he heard that, he looked up and shouted, "Yeah! Dad's right! You're not getting in anyway. Might as well give me the money!"
I looked at the two of them, at their perfectly reasonable expressions, and felt my stomach churn.
I did not cry. I did not argue. I knew tears were the cheapest thing in that house. It was worth nothing.
I kept quiet. I just picked up a broom and started sweeping the shells scattered all over the floor.
Bab Populer