The theater like room that had beautiful golden engravings embellishing the maroon walls. There were also extravagant buttresses of marble carved angels with flowing hair holding up the dome stained glass roof. The fancy theater was full of people clad in elegant attire sitting in the red velvet chairs. The richer patrons were on the balcony seats and near the front of the audience sitting area, each person in the room (who was not a worker) held a card. Those who arrived as a family, the head of the family was entitled to hold the beautifully spotless white card with the bold cursive gold number. On the stage stood a girl in a beautiful baby blue dress, she forced a smile attempting to look as pretty and attractive as possible. Also on the stage, (although the left side) stood a middle aged man in a nice suit. This man is holding a gavel behind a gold and maroon pew yelling off numbers faster than busta rhymes could do himself.
The crowd of handsomely dressed patrons were in an uproar, yelling from all directions.
“Six-hundred, can I get a six-hundred?” the auctioneer pushed the people vocally, his voice ringing through the stadium.
“Alright five-hundred-fifty goes to the lovely man in white." He probably wasn’t a lovely man, he was probably some hideous old guy wanting to revive his youth by auctioning for dates from young girls just like the rest.
“Ah what? Only five-fifty?! I know I could do much better than that!”
The girl in the baby blue dress returned to back stage pouting, her once beautiful smile turning into an ugly frown. To tell you the truth I believed she was worth much less, filthy money leeches. Not like I was one to say that.
“You’re up next Chenoa," my mother whispered to me with a tense hand on my shoulder, she then took a black satin sequined mask that matched my black dress and tied it around my face blacking out my vision.
“Look good up there, we need this money.” She whispered to me, her warm hands running through my curls calming down my pounding heart just a bit.
It was true, there was no way our family could survive without this money I make by selling myself off for a couple of dates. I nodded, swallowing.
“And now for our masked wild card!" The announcer yelled, silencing the stadium; a man took my arm leading me out onto the stage. Clip clop clip clop. Only the sound of my heels was echoed. Someone from the crowd gave a low whistle
The yelling started to pick up everything seemed to float past me, the auctioneer flying through numbers as I stood there like an antique vase; an item rather than a human being, the anger and disgust that was once in my body subsided to void, nothingness. Was I even human anymore?
“Aaaaand sold to the man in black!”
At that moment the man that led me out untied the mask from my face and I peered out into the crowd. People gasped and made comments. I stood there for a bit longer then was lead back into the backstage of the auction house. I passed the girl from before who sneered at me.
“The bitch was just lucky to get wildcard so he couldn’t see her ugly face.”
She huffed jealously to the other girl beside her who nodded in agreement. Walking past people I heard whispers, all eyes on me I looked away self consciously and started walking a bit faster. Damn, these heels are hard to walk in! I stumbled and was about to take a deep plunge to the marbled floor until someone caught me by the arm and hoisted me up
“Careful there sweetie, don’t want to put a mark on that face.”
He cooed to me, I looked at him pointedly.
YOU ARE READING
The year is 2015 and Chenoa's family is poor, so they are doing what any regular family would, Auction dates with her off to rich men. When she is won by the dark haired, green eyed celebrity Demyan Levontav things start to heat up. How will Chenoa...