Child labor laws have come far in the past decades– just not to middle schools.

Every year, in October, we would each get a 10 ton box of chocolates and be thrust into the autumn cold to proposition strangers. And, most of the time, it was just as strange as that sentence sounded.

We could complain, but no one ever dared to stand up and say “no”, because when it came to fundraising, chocolates were king and we were their human foot stools. Really, it was simple economics– supply and demand– they demanded we sell sell sell, and we supplied.

One dreary afternoon, I set off on my daily chocolate-run. Dark chocolate was always the last to sell and I found that with every door I knocked on I was becoming just as bitter as it’s detested taste. However, in those much simpler times, I was strangely optimistic. That day hadn’t been a particularly bad day and I was proud of myself for that, so I walked with an extra jump in my step, loonies jingling in the paper envelope I carried to collect funds. Little did my naïve, twelve-year-old self know that in but a few moments I would see my life flash before my very eyes.

Five houses from the end of the street. Four houses. Three. Two. One.

Turn.

The rottweiler looked me straight in the eyes, and kind of nodded, as if saying, “Yeah, that’s right, I’m gonna kill you.”

And I couldn’t look away. I just slowly lowered the 10 ton box to the pavement and started walking backwards, as it stepped forward. The earlier optimism draining away like the color from my skin. I paled. I knew in that moment that I was dog food, so I shut my eyes and ran. Waiting to be devoured, for the snarling at my hind legs, for the nipping at my heels, for the slobber of salient teeth, for the tearing of flesh.

But it never came.

Instead, all I heard was a resounding clink. The sound of a strained metal, a chain taut with exertion, a leash unyielding as it kept the hound at bay. It was the sound of my savior. The lead, in equal parts, restraining the animal as well as tethering me to the realm of the living. The forces of tension running parallel, conglomerated down each chain link to the next, worked together to keep me alive that day.

From then on, I no longer cared about the casual day those who sold the chocolates would receive; although it was a tough decision, I think my life meant more to me.