Daisy - New Owner

Within a few months I had settled into my new life, every now and then I made mistakes and wouldn't get to eat. 

 I was still known as Mutt, however. Which Mrs. Jones and everyone reminded me daily that it was my fault. If I didn't keep arguing and saying my name, I wouldn't be called Mutt any longer.

 Closing the door I relax. It is nearly midnight. Cleaning today took longer. James, Mrs Jones' son had friends around, so my usual cleaning routine took far longer than it normally would.

 Sitting in my small cell, I take out the pencil and paper. It is the only thing I have. Drawing a cake with candles, I wish myself a happy birthday before rubbing out the image.

 I learnt quickly, that paper is sacred. I am given maybe five sheets a month, some months less. So after using a piece of paper, I would rub out the pencil to reuse it. 

 My mind can't help but wonder what my parents are doing. Are they sitting there wishing me a happy birthday? Do they even remember it is my birthday? 

 They may have never given me any presents growing up, but they would wish me a happy birthday and that was the one day I would have off. I could do what I wanted. As long as it didn't cost anything. Usually, I would just sit outside. 

 It was rare that I could do it. So every year on my birthday I did. Not this year though. This year I worked. No one said happy birthday. No one noticed me, the child wanting to be noticed. 

 ***Thirteen years Later***

 I look at Mrs. Jones as she signs the papers. I don’t have rights to myself, how fucked up is that? No, she holds my rights. Well, she did, until she signed that contract. Just like my parents had.

 “She is officially yours.” Mrs. Jones pushes me to the guy, and I watch as she is handed money.

 “Fifty thousand, as agreed.” The man places the money on the desk. While some will think holy shit that is a lot, is it really? I don’t believe lives have a price tag. Everyone is worth more to someone else, the worth of me to this man is far more than my parents thought, yet to another man, maybe a million. To Mrs. Jones, I was worth nothing more than ten thousand.

 I do as I am told, stand quietly and watch as they do their deal. Mrs Jones doesn’t want me, she has had enough of my attitude and she keeps trying to rent me out to people, but most don’t pay. She doesn’t have enough wealth and power to make them. So, her solution, sell me entirely. Sell my rights to this man.

 Dean.

 You may be wondering how I have no rights. Twenty-five, and no rights whatsoever. No freedom, I can’t go where I want, I can’t buy myself anything. I have nothing of my own.

 As the government fell, the laws, rules and safety came crumbling down. There was no one to protect the children. Some children like Mrs Jones', are wanted and loved. Others like me were a way to survive poverty.

 My parents had me, and then as soon as I could lift a brush, I was rented out as a cleaner. When I was old enough, I was hired as a babysitter. Whatever job they could find me, I did it. I would envision running away, but I knew it was futile. 

 Even as an adult, if I tried to get my own place, a job, or a bank account I would be asked for my contract. The one that states I was sold, and must work off my debt. It is my parent's debt though, the money wasn't given to me. 

 Just like now, Mrs Jones. Apparently, my lack of education meant all I could do was household chores. I failed in the factory, and to pay off the debt of my parents was taking too long. 

 My only chance to survive is to do as I am told. Eleven years, I have eleven years left before I am free. Regardless of debt, when someone reaches thirty-six all contracts are removed. That is my only saving grace. 

 That is providing that between now and then I don't sign a contract. I can live on minimal food, clothing and supplies. I know that if I agreed to their help, I would sign to pay off the cost. That is me agreeing to extra years after my freedom date.

 “This way.” I feel a hand pull on me, a woman smiling as she leads me out of my house. 

 “Your name?” The woman looks at me waiting.

 Do I say Melinda or Mutt? I really don't know. She looks at me impatiently.

 "Mrs Jones called me Mutt." That was all I could say.

 "Well, pick a name, a name you actually like. I can see your birth name on the contracts, however, when you are thirty-six you have the right to change your name."

 "Daisy, I like Daisy." I do, and I don't want to use the name my parents gave me.

 “Okay, well Daisy, I’m Mary. Dean’s wife, the plan is for you to live with us. We have a few girls who do. You will have your own room and things. Your aim is to ensure you’re earning us enough to pay for what you use and the cost we paid buying you from Mrs Jones. You have three years to earn back that money for us.”

 Is she crazy? One hundred thousand in three years?

 “How am I meant to do that?”

 “Sex of course. There are many places where women go and get paid for pleasure. Some places will pay more than others. You will do it.”

 Sex is a new one even for me. I have watched my dad get paid by people to hire me to clean, do drug runs, steal, and so much more, but never have sex. Not even Mrs. Jones sold me for that.

 “Think of it as pleasure and business mix. You get the pleasure, we get the payment.”  She stands by the car holding open the door. Sliding in I sit down.

 I don’t speak, I stay quiet as we get taken to their place. They have money, a lot of money but to them, my worth is one hundred thousand. Even though their house is probably worth millions. So to them, I am pennies.

 My new house, until that contract is void because I reach thirty-six. I can survive until then. I have survived this long