So it goes...

For those who’ve come across the seas, we’ve boundless plains to share. 

Indeed. The very ground beneath our feet has been sold to the highest bidder.

       A tale of two countries, across the world in time and space; yet in the same boat together, adrift on a bought-and sold sea. Canada and Australia. Two nations running the same course. Weak at the knees and in that grim panic of desperation – that same panic of a man who’s credit card bills and mob debts have run so high his grandkids will have to pay them back. He knows he is doomed. He feels it in his chest. Throbbing heartbeat and racing mind in the darkness as he tries to sleep. He lies awake for hours.  He doesn’t answer the phone anymore. The dread won’t let him. He knows that the time is closing in – that time when at last they send their hired goons around, sledgehammers tucked inside long, heavy trenchcoats. Dark glasses. These boys are mean, and they mean business.

            He knows they’ll be coming ‘round soon enough. They’ll be wanting the money. He can’t pay, not yet. Stuck for options, he logs on. Ebay. He has some valuable assets. Should be enough to keep the goons at bay for a while… at the very least it should be enough to keep them from making rash and final decisions... decisions that may or may not involve said sledgehammers or other dark, unspeakable tools; decisions involving his knucklebones and kneecaps. No. That just won’t do. Fingers tremble and hover above the keyboard.

            Puts a few ads up on Ebay. These things, they’re worth a hell of a lot. They ought to be anyway, they’re heirlooms. Passed down the family for generations. Grim pangs of guilt as he puts it all up for sale; but the fear is stronger… He can just about feel the bastards breathing down his neck. He hears the tortured sounds of a wailing dog somewhere outside, down the street. Horrible sounds.

 Buy Now optional. Yes, indeed… preferable. Those fuckers will be here any minute. 
“Christ, how did it come to this?” he wonders. Stares at the screen in the darkness, face close to the screen. Blue glow bathes the face as he grimly watches the bids. Sweat begins to bead on the forehead… dark thoughts.

            "SOLD". That old wooden clock his grandfather built with his bare hands and long-forgotten handiness that his father tried to pass onto him, but was forgotten in the pace and swirl of life in the Modern Age. He ponders this as he sends an email to the buyer. Chinese. Wonders how the fuck he plans to get the thing to China, but what the hell? A bit of cash. Funny though. Could have sworn it was worth more than that… There’s nothing in the world like it. One of a kind. His grandfather built it with his bare hands. Master craftsman, that old bloke. Shame he never got to make the funeral.Wonder if he's watching now?

          Netbank. Yes! Pay-dirt. Still behind, but it’s a start. One or two more quick sales and he’ll be in the green again. Sigh of relief.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

Fuck. 

Somebody’s at the door…