I thought of this story in the middle of 'Career Education' class when these people were talking about the risks of credit cards and what would happen if you maxed out and didn't pay. There were a lot of crazy ideas like men coming after you, so I decided to change it a little and completely blow it out of proportion (in a good way). And I know paragraph 17 is an info dump. The reason I'm keeping it like that is because I wanted to leave a big impression on how he looks (If you have a better way to sum it up, though, I'd gladly hear it).
The Charge Card: 1
John stepped out of the Brokerage Firm and into the rain. His face was grim, and in his hand he held a crumpled up application form. The rain soaked into his suit and slowly dissolved the piece of paper in his hand until it was nothing more than a cold, formless lump. He clenched his hand tightly around the ruined application form. It oozed between his fingers and dripped onto the ground below.
“Damn it!” he yelled, his frustration overwhelming him. He turned around and whipped the paper lump at the door of the Brokerage Firm. It splattered on one of the glass panels and slowly oozed its way down. The receptionist looked up at him angrily and picked up the phone. John figured she was calling security. He rudely gave her the finger and walked out into the parking lot.
The rain chilled him and he tried his best to ignore his violent shudders. His shoes squished with each step and splashed water up his pantlegs. His mind was clouded and angry, so his judgment wasn’t in check. He knew what he was about to do would be a mistake, but at that point he didn’t care.
The streets were emptier than usual, the city’s inhabitants not wanting to get caught in the rain. Even so, a cab was out stalking the streets for a passenger. John didn’t even need to flag it down it was so eager for business.
He slipped into the back seat and looked down. His wet suit dripped onto the car seat and floor.
“Where to, sir?” said the cabby. John looked up at the burly man in the drivers seat. He smelt strongly of whiskey, but John didn’t care. If they crashed it would only save him the trouble.
“The Golden Gate Bridge,” he muttered. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
“On a day like this?”
John didn’t answer.
Taking a hint, the cabby turned back to the wheel and drove away.
John reflected on his life during the drive, trying to figure out where everything went wrong.
He remembered how confident he was after graduating college. He’d been planning on starting the career of his dreams and having a family, but that would never be. He still wasn’t sure what caused it all, but through his mistakes he was fired so many times that no one would hire him anymore. And without a job the women wouldn’t even give him a chance to prove himself to them. Now he had no home, no money, almost no possessions, and no family. His life was forever ruined, so why continue it?
The cab pulled up to the curb a ways away from the Golden Gate Bridge. “I can’t park much closer,” the cabby’s excuse was.
On his way out, before the cabby could tell him the cost of the ride, he took out his wallet and tossed it to him. The cabby dug inside it greedily as John walked away. He was out of view by the time the cabby realized there were only a few dollars inside.
John got onto the bridge and stood by the edge. Cars drove by behind him, splashing his back as they ran over the puddles. He looked down and saw the frightening and yet welcoming waters that lay so far below. He contemplated on how he should jump. Head first or feet first? Which would be the least painful? Just as he was about to jump, someone spoke.
“Hello, Mr. John,” came a cool voice. Surprised, he jerked his head around and looked for the speaker.
Behind him stood the most peculiar man he’d ever seen. He wore a pair of black pants with a matching, unbuttoned blazer, a crimson, silk shirt beneath it. Tilted on his head to cover his face was a black fedora with a firm, golden feather sticking out of it. He wore countless rings and necklaces made of precious metals. His shoes were finely polished, and the pockets on his coat had worthless objects such as pieces of string and envelopes sticking out.
“Who are you?” John asked even though he didn’t really care. He’d be gone soon anyway.
“I’m the man who’ll change your life,” said the man, sticking his hand out to shake. John ignored it. “But you can call me The Collector.” He pulled his hand back to his side.
John wondered what this man meant by ‘change his life’. It sounded like he was selling something and hadn’t been clever enough to come up with a better way to market it. He did, however, find it strange that he’d be selling his product on the Golden Gate Bridge in the middle of a rain storm.
“How would you like to be able to afford everything and anything you ever wanted?” The Collector said, smiling beneath his hat.
More curious than anything else, John nodded.
“Good, good,” The Collector said happily. He opened his blazer and put his right hand into an inside pocket. He dug his hand down deeper than the pocket appeared to go and brought out a plastic card. It was completely black with a single blue line running through the middle with the words ‘Charge Card’ written in white. He handed it to John and let him study it.
“What is it?” John asked.
“Well what’s it look like?”
“It does say Charge Card, but how would that change my life? It’s just a crappy credit card.”
“Ah,” The Collector said, “But it’s so much more than that. Allow me to explain. That card will let you buy all you want and it will never reach its limit.”
“And then I have to pay it back, right? It’s just a plain old credit card.” John was about to go back to his death, but the man grabbed his arm.
“No. You don’t have to pay anything.”
John’s heart nearly stopped. Could something like that even exist? Possibilities flooded into his mind. He could have everything he ever wanted and more with just the swipe of a card. But what was the catch for this gift? What could he give that was worth it?
“What do I need to do to keep this?” John asked curiously.
The Collector’s smile was very large now. “All I request is a gift for every month you have it.”
“What kind of gift?” John said, his hope leaving him. He didn’t have anything worth giving.
“Do you have a pen on you?” The Collector inquired.
“Yes, right here.” John took an old, fountain pen from his pocket and handed it to him.
“That will suffice for your first payment,” The Collector said as he added the pen to his pocket of random objects. “Each month you keep the card I’ll come and take something a bit more valuable. That’s all you have to pay. Does it sound like a deal?” He stuck out his hand once more. John looked at it for a moment in hesitation, but then he smiled and grasped it tightly.
“Deal.”
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That's part one. I hope I made the impression I wanted, but then again, loosing a pen isn't that ominous. It's what he continues to lose as time goes on that'll get to you. That will also be what the other parts are about.
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