Listen to this. ♫ Skipjack - At the Lowest Place ♫

Today's weather. Is it raining? It's damp and humid. The yellowed linoleum floor exhales moisture. Mold has settled in deep, looking like it has no intention of ever leaving. Water droplets fall on it irregularly, without any rhythm.

Faint light leaks in through a window that offers a half-view of the outside. The neighbor's mutt barks its head off instead of a rooster. I wonder what's so great about a new day coming that it has to bark like that.

The rusted iron door rattles loudly. The sound of knocking comes through the gaps. Once, twice. Then three times again at a leisurely pace.

That bastard must be here again...

I peel my face off the linoleum floor, where it was stuck due to the sticky humidity. A disgusting sound of sticking and peeling follows every step. I grab and turn the handle of the iron door, which vibrates from the knocking.

Click.

My head tilts up naturally. He's probably going to harass a kid with no money again. I hate that smug expression of his. Oh, it's a face I've never seen before... The face I look up at is handsome. Handsome enough to make a living selling his looks without being a loan shark.

It wasn't the bearded middle-aged man who always came. I couldn't even see a trace of a beard. Most loan sharks are older men. Maybe he's not a loan shark? I shift my gaze to his shirt, and he definitely looks like one.

Are you here to collect money?

At those words, the corners of his handsome mouth curl up slightly. I definitely saw it, but they quickly return to their original position. He looks like he's about to play dumb. I let out a deep sigh and continue.

I don't have any money. And why should I be the one to pay that back?

As soon as I finish speaking, a document blocks my view. I grab it and scan my eyes from top to bottom. My gaze stops at the last sentence.

'If not repaid within the period, the debt is transferred to the child.'

And my father's name scribbled in the signature line. My mouth shuts tight. Even if I tried to speak, nothing but curses for my father would come out.

I'll pay you back as soon as I get a job.

Regardless of whether he's still standing there, I slam the rattling iron door shut. I shut it so hard it's a miracle it didn't fall off the house. How can a man who calls himself a father sell out his own child? I lean my back against the door and sink to the floor. It's not because I'm sorrowful or angry; I just feel empty. A contemplation on why I wasn't born into a normal family instead of this dilapidated one. No tears came. I didn't want to cry over something like this.