greed

pain

He cackles, wipes his forehead, legs refuse to stir. Time is mocking him. A rasped wheeze, as painful as it sounds.
'Greed is a sin, one that you will pay with your own hands. The pain you will feel is the pain that you made them feel.'

'Why is it that you yearn to deviate from your own life path? This specific path moulded just for you,' a voice taunts.
'I take this ​life​ you call as a sojourn, I seek an opportunity to escape,' he replies with crude animosity. 'I live for no specific reason, I long for arcane histories and absurd exploits, I beg of you not to interfere,' he continues with a blithe disregard of the latter.

'My apologies, but I shan't let you go further than this. What you have, it is not a gift, it is merely a curse, one that will maim you for life, I am sure you have noticed,' it warns.

He scoffs, effeminate features wrinkling, 'I do what I can by my own volition, no matter how far my mind wanders off at a tangent, the things I do play out with reason.'

The world we live in is spartan, the graffiti I see and the fresh perfumery of sweat. The woman next to me, her face, it insults me. She tightens her grip against her twins, gives a tug on her bomber, walks away briskly. We live with dust mites and parasites, I do my best to avoid them.

I ignore tempting food stalls, jeer at leafleters.
The subway takes me to '​home​'.
I am now at my desk, eyes dreary, ready to collapse any moment as I was. I am now ready. I will close my eyes.​ Pain​.

A movie star. $21 million. Houses all over the states. Headlines flash and lights flicker, all eyes are on ​me ​now. Newscasters, journalists and reporters form a line, PA systems are lined against the walls. A half-hearted smile escapes, a lady bolts out from behind the stage curtains. She dashes so fast I could have sworn I saw her fly. 'I refuse to work for an unfathomable man who partook in lamentable transactions!' a high-pitched voice squeaks. The reporters gasp, the crowd points.

She ruined my flawless image.
My eyes are closed again. ​Pain.​ The moment a flash of light awakens me, I am gasping for air.​ Pain.​ 'That failed,' I sigh.
'Your onism​​ is sure to cause your death,' the voice speaks up again.
I shut my eyes yet again. Block out all that I hear. ​Pain.​

My vision is blurry. There are poker chips in stacks around me, burly men hoot and holler. A curvaceous glass, my ​curvaceous glass of pilsner. 'My dude! What's todays' conspiracy?' a stout man in a singlet pats my back. 'Well-' I start. Without warning, a group of men fling open the doors of the betting shop. All heads turn instantaneously. 'Ey! My man Bates! Waspish tongue, just his visage would tell you-' he masters the most sarcastic fanciful gesture ever, 'he's a con artist.' 'Everyone in this room listen up, I am onto you Bates,' one of the men flicks his index at me, all eyes subsequently turning. As if he were telling a story, he melodiously constructs a scenario, 'this man, Bates, would siphon money and visit syndicates, he shakes with mirth while exchanging wine bottles. Pyrrhic victories aside, his intentions were left untold, many still wonder till this day. He himself confirmed, it was just because ​he liked money.'​ The entire room is silent, the stout man looks insulted and played.

'NO!' 

My eyes close faster than they did previously. A flash of light. P​ ain. I​ am back at my desk. My gasps are heavier, my breathing faster.
'Warned you,' the voice mocks.
I carry out the usual routine. Block out its uncouth tone. ​Pain.​

'As a child, Syke was brought to exquisite, grandeur ballrooms and black-tie dinners. Clad in white, she was raised among a bunch of fabricators. Do take good care of her, shower her with opulent golden facilities, give her all you can. These are my instructions,' she twirls her jewellery and laughs in monotones. Skye, me​, was, ​am,​ a girl, a young girl begging for freedom. ​She ​reminded me a little too much of myself. Poignance overload, it hurt.

'I told you so,' the voice beckons. It​ hurts.
Pain.
Pain.

Where is the flash of light?
Where is my desk?
I want my life back.
When am I regaining consciousness?
My breathing slows down, I feel comfort.
My breathing continues to slow down, I feel wary. My breathing slows down faster, I panic.

My breathing, it comes to a stop.