Feeling disorientated, I try to figure out who the two men were in my dream. One was comforting, his presence calming me down - reminding me of water, whilst the other gave me a sense of foreboding, a need to be fearful – reminding me of fire.

Not wanting to think about this matter anymore, I made my way downstairs. My parents hadn’t awoken yet, and for that I was immensely pleased. Living in a two-storey house in a respectable neighbourhood had its perks. Many didn’t care about how we lived our lives, as long it wasn’t disruptive. They preferred to mind their own business, although when we first moved here, even the most respectable felt the need to pry.

The house was rather big and that’s why my parents had a room available downstairs for rent. Something about business and money urged my parents to decide on this, making it easier for them to pay the mortgage and other expenses. Unfortunately, the few previous tenants were all rid of by my father for their reckless behaviour, nowhere near gathering the amount of money my father had envisioned to make.

Walking into the renting room, I surveyed the damage done by the recent tenant. Cigarettes littered the floor, the wallpapers in the room ripped and shredded, the closet door barely hanging on by its hinges and the remains of what used to be a bed. He was kicked out immediately after my father found him attempting to break the window. I still wondered why my father thought the room wouldn’t be damaged if he let anyone off the streets rent. Obviously, they hadn’t had proper housing before and abused the right of shelter once they had it or may