Two pillars remained on either side of the drive. Weather and time had worn them to wavy pitted forms accenting where the road and drive collided. The pillars had once held the gate the stood across the drive. The gates had been taken down years ago and sold and the wooden fences that ran up on each side of the pillars had decayed so that there was not even a hint of them among the tangles of grass and tree roots.

The pitch of the roof was barely visible above the treetops in the distance. The drive, now nearly overrun with growth, wound its way back along the willows to the clearing where the immense house sat.

The fog rolled down from the mountains to settle upon the bogs of the lowlands, among which the house was set. The stone façade had spent more than half its life wallowing in the darkness and fog, under the shadow of the mountains. It had been built to stand the test of time and thus far the builders had achieved just that. The House of Two Pillars had stood against the cold biting winds of the valley for more than 300 years.

The house had never left the Wainesworth family. It had been built for Bertram Wainesworth and passed along from generation to generation as a sort of heirloom, some thinking it shouldn’t be sold, others knowing that it could not be.

The Wainesworth’s had carried on the tradition of giving the house, along with all its furniture and contents along to the youngest son, a tradition that had started with Bertram Wainesworth. Bertram had given the house to his youngest son Charleston, passing over his eldest 3 son’s Garret, Matthew, and Philmore. The youngest son’s had originally taken the house to be a great heirloom but through years and the general dilution of the Wainesworth fortune, the youngest sons had come to view the house as less of a cherished heirloom and more of a burden.

None of the son’s had lived in the house since the early 1800’s and the reasons given had dwindled overtime to nothing more than the house being inconveniently old and in need of too much work. Yet there was also a fear of the house. An unspoken rule that whoever inherited the house should never move into it, but the reason for this was never discussed.

Paper had been the avenue in which Bertram Wainesworth had made his fortune. It was a grand some and he had hoped it would be enough to sustain his family for 1000 years. He had found a vast sum of land and bought it for a very small price considering the size of the land. The House of Two Pillars was to be a haven for his family for many generations to come. It had been all but abandoned now for many generations.

“What was that noise?” Sarah thought to herself as she slid into her familiar spot on the oversized chair, one leg slung over an armrest.

The TV was working its way through one of the Myth Busters episodes she had dvr’ed as she began to slurp the noodles of her soup. It was a perfect day for soup and TV. It had rained/snowed for about 2 days straight and even though she was dry now she still felt the cold lingering in her bones.

Sarah pulled on her socks and grabbed the blanket that was flung over the chair, pulling it across her body. “A nice lazy evening.” She said to the cocker spaniel that sat at the foot of the chair. “You had better not need to go outside again tonight because I am not taking you out.”

The dog didn’t even lift its head. They had just gotten back from a run about a half hour ago and the normally chipper Mr. Kowalski was too tired to entertain Sarah right now.

Thump.

A definite noise that time. Sarah pulled herself up on her shoulder to look behind into the kitchen. The darkness beyond the door frame was all consuming, but the noise had stopped. More noodles slurped into Sarah’s mouth and the smacking of her lips aroused some faint interest from Mr. K.

The TV show worked on as with the Myth Busters taking on urban legends. “The Discovery Channel is the only thing really worth watching.” Sarah noted to the dog who was intently watching her bowl. “And I think Grant is cute.” Sarah however thought a great many men were cute.

Scrap.

“What in the blazes?” Sarah noted getting up from the chair and switching on the table lamp. “Can’t a girl just watch some TV and eat some noodles in peace?” Even having to get out of the chair frustrated her to no end. She stormed off into the kitchen.

The darkness swallowed her.

I want you to name something that you can do that doesn’t cost any money. Since you cannot tell me what you came up with I see if I can guess. Did you think sit in your house and read a book? Exactly how did you get the book? Also having a house costs a handsome sum without considering electricity. Perhaps you thought of a walk to the park. You aren’t going naked are you? Clothes cost money and the food you would need to eat to get yourself there isn’t free. You cannot hunt for free anymore and harvesting would mean you have to trespass on someone’s land.

My point is that we have become enslaved by money. You might not be feeling as free as you had been a moment ago. There is no part of your life that isn’t dictated by money. The homeless don’t ask if you have spare housing, clothing or food. They ask if you have spare change, or some money that you could give to them. Money is the web we wove then subsequently ensnared ourselves in. You are a slave to money.

It probably takes a person who was either poor once or relatively poor now to view money as a trap or slavery and likely I would fit most people’s definition of both. My wife and I live comfortably in our apartment, but we have debt and it dictates what we can and cannot do. Still, I think I began to view money in this fashion when I was younger.

There is a frustration with money when you feel it holding you back. I might not be able to see the other side of the argument having never lived on that side of the fence but when you look at those who have I don’t see any indication that they themselves are experiencing freedom either. They buy expensive things which cost more to maintain and thereby the cycle of slavery is perpetuated to every social class.

Money, however, is a purely self inflicted wound. We created our vast societies and standards so that money can effectively govern over all of us without any deviation. We have carefully crafted the web so that none may slip past, if I may be so bold as to continue the metaphor. This is what aggravates me to no end.

I wonder if we could look at humanity from moneys’ perspective if we would then be able to see it for the vial act that it is.

I long to be free of it yet I know that I cannot be. Perhaps, if the so called chance favors me, I can have enough that I can ignore it. Yet I think I shall always hate it, because it robs me of my freedom.