|
Greed
Greed. That was what drove them, the man with gut, the man with the mirror, and the man with the bulge.
They passed through valleys’ walls, between mountains that resembled ragged teeth, up through treacherous
crags and sloping sides of perilous ice. Their greed was what propelled them up that mountain. They
longed for what they didn’t have.
The glutton dreamed of veal and venison, of ducks and doves. The lustful one craved harlots and concubines,
as many as there were nights left in his life. The narcissist thirsted for eternal youth, along with the
veneration of all. And so, reaching the top of the mountain, a mountain marked by a particularly maliciously
broken tooth, they stood witness to their desires.
A stone table, carved out of the colourless rock of the mountain, surrounded the courtyard at
the mountain’s peak, leaving just enough of a gap in the ring for the glutton to waddle through
and attack the unsuspecting feast. The inside of the ring was cluttered with a plethora of things,
from rotting garbage to knives, nooses, and precious metals and gems.
Surrounding all, crouched seductively over the table or sprawled out on the heap, costless
prostitutes bewitchingly scrutinized the newcomers. The bulge in the lustful man’s pants grew,
and so he too stumbled through the narrow opening, almost tripping on the already hip-high pile
of bones that had been picked clean by Gluttony. Selecting only the most exquisite of all the
gorgeous women, he led them to a conveniently placed silk tent, scrambling over discarded
plates and various types of cutlery.
But the narcissist didn’t see anything that would make him immortally youthful. Sure,
the golden trinkets scattered on the floor would make him admired. But for how many
years would they last him? They could get stolen, or become damaged. The gems were
less likely to become tarnished, yet no matter how brilliantly they shone,
their colours would dull as Narcissism’s eyes grew cloudy with age. And so
he ignored these mild temptations in search of something greater.
In the center of the cluttered courtyard he found it - a basin, sunk into the stone floor,
filled with water. Through the liquid, he could see an image at the bottom of a young woman,
smiling as her hair grew shorter, her legs stubbier and her arms shrank into nubs. She smiled
as she metamorphosed from woman to girl, from girl to toddler, toddler to baby and baby to fetus.
He was mesmerized as the fetus grew gills and a tail, regressed into cells, and as those cells
fused from eight in number to four, from four to two, from two to one, from one to a sperm and
an ovum. From the ova arose a middle-aged woman who began to transform into a younger version
of herself. This was the well of youth. He had found his jewel which would never tarnish.
And yet this jewel could still be stolen. If Gluttony or Lust found the well, then they too would
become immortal. He could not share its possession. Backing away from the well, yet reluctant to
remove his eyes from its shimmering surface, he snatched a knife from the myriad laying in tangles,
and snaked through the chaos to where Gluttony was slumped with his face in his plate. He slit gluttony’s
throat. The narcissist did not notice that the blood did not spurt as it should have had Gluttony’s heart
still been beating, it was only when he hit the ground with a clang did it become apparent he was already
dead. Lumps the size of humble boulders were apparent in his abdomen. His repeated meals had turned to
stone in his stomach, slowly and agonizingly ripping open the lining. He died of internal bleeding.
And so Narcissism continued to Lust’s tent. Peering through the loose flaps, he could see the women still
enjoying his company. Taking note of where Lust lay inside the tent, he tiptoed around the thin silk sheets,
and, once in position, pierced the fabric gently. All of the occupants’ attentions were diverted elsewhere,
so, seizing his opportunity, Narcissism lunged through the fissure he had created and stabbed Lust. This
time he did notice the lack of blood pressure in the wound. Lust had died of blood loss as well; his blood
had been directed to one part of his body for far too long, reducing blood flow to his vital organs and
slowly draining him.
The narcissist was alone. Now he, singly, would be revered as immortal. He did not notice, as he walked,
the scarlet blood pooling out of the tent, and out from the glutton, trickling towards the well. He did
not notice his shoes stick to the blood, slipping off his feet. Nor did he notice it harder and harder
to lift his feet, harder to pull them up from the gore which was gluing him to the floor. He barely
even noticed when his left foot stuck, tripping him, tumbling him into the well. He got what he
desired. He became immortalized in the well, forever the woman’s partner, and forever the temptation
for future narcissists. He had become immortal, he had become revered.
Danielle Beaulne
Email: Danielle Beaulne
Return to Table of Contents
|