Worth
Gold
My
eyes scan the room
as
I step onto the scale
that
will decide
my
worth and my home.
The
flashing numbers on the scale
blur
together as the man,
the
auctioneer,
beside
me
stares
at them increasing.
And
they stop.
One-hundred-ten
the
numbers displayed.
A
pound of gold is two-thousand dollars,
so
one-hundred-ten two-thousands
is
two-hundred-twenty-thousand.
It
isn’t much.
The
golden numbers are projected
on
a screen behind me
for
the men and women watching
to
see my worth.
I
take a deep breath.
This
is completely necessary,
mother had told me.
We
need the money to keep living,
father had explained.
One-hundred-ten.
With
barely anything to feed
me,
my weight is low.
Most
of the others on scales
were
at least two-hundred.
But
it fits.
My
family only sees me as a means
to
an end.
The
faces come into focus,
some
with shining, golden teeth
in
their smiles,
their smirks,
their sneers,
and
they seem satisfied with the low price.
And
I know that,
to
them and my family,
I
am worth my weight in gold.
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