Azare

The men from the casino had cornered him into a dark, isolated alley.

"H-hey guys, I promise you I will get you your money," Azare stuttered, his heart seemed like it was going to jump out of his mouth and run. He had heard nothing but trouble about these people around the town.

"We WANT our money now, boy, "rasped a deep voice from behind the crowd.

As the crowd made way for this unknown person, a human pyramid emerged and loomed over him. He looked stern, but professional, in a black, tailored suit. Drenched in sweat and heart pounding, Azare kept his narrowed eyes fixed to the ground, unable to meet his unblinking, cold stare.

"I promise you, Sir, I will get you your money by Wednesday," he stated, trying to put on a brave face.

"You have until Monday, kid," he grunted. He was used to giving orders; his tone was firm and cold and one that expected to be obeyed without question. And with that, he left, the other men following him like little minions.

Slowly, the rapid beat of his heart became calmer and his pale face relaxed, hardly daring to believe that he had escaped without any injuries. But the panic had left an ache in his head and a ringing in his ears.

He ambled out of the alley into a huge, dirty town clogged with fumes and traffic. Like strings of spaghetti, roads circled and split the town. He lived in a run-down part of the city. Wood, not glass filled the windows. Graffiti covered the walls. Rotting rubbish and broken glass lined the streets. Plastic bags and crisp packets flapped like streamers in trees. Empty drink bottles rattled in the gutter like instruments. He was entitled as the "troublemaker" of the town. He either owed people money or they wanted to kill him. But even so, he put a happy, proud face but behind that mask lay a face of sadness and mischief.

Not long afterwards, he stood at the gates of a colossal, luxurious mansion. It was the only house in the whole town that looked amazing. From the inside, it looked like a charming, inviting home. But to him, it was a nightmare filled with misery. He held the intercom.

"It's Azare, Father," he whispered. The dark, gigantic gate scraped the ground as it separated. He walked through the middle of neat, lush lawns. (You may be wondering why he owes people money when his father is moneyed, you will figure that out soon) Honeysuckle clung to the majestic oak tree, which spread its enormous limbs over the heart of the garden. He rang the doorbell. The door opened. A strong, muscular man was revealed. He had smooth, dark olive-skinned like beaten leather. His eyes were velvet- brown and beamed with warmth like candles in the dark.

"My son!" he shouted. He wrapped his arms around his son like a snake strangling a man. Laughter lines burned into his skin

"Hey, dad," Azare answered uncomfortably. He barely hugged him back.

" How you been?" his dad asked as Azare walked in the house. He didn't reply, just stared around.

He was back in his worst nightmare...